


Chance

by Helena_Hathaway



Category: My Chemical Romance, Paramore
Genre: ABSOLUTELY GUARANTEED HAPPY ENDING, Attempt at Humor, Chance Meetings, Frerard, Funny, Happy Ending, Humor, Love at First Sight, M/M, New York City
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6253564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helena_Hathaway/pseuds/Helena_Hathaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter, followed by an unforgettable night of adventure, leaves Gerard and Frank struck with love at first sight. Except now they have no idea how to find each other again. New York is a big city, though, and finding one person in a city of millions is trickier than it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello Cold World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad pick up lines and halitosis.

“Well fuck me,” Gerard groans.

“That kind of week?” Hayley asks.

“That kind of year,” Gerard responds.

It has not been a good day. It has not been a good week either. Gerard is not having much luck at the whole existing thing lately. In the past six months he has totaled a car, lost a three-year relationship, and today has brought with it the worst thing yet. He was fucking fired.

He didn’t even do anything to deserve being fired. They said he was being ‘let go’ but Gerard doesn’t care how you phrase it, he doesn’t have a job. Just because his company made some poorly thought out investments and his boss ran away to the Cayman Islands doesn’t make it fair that Gerard is now out one very high paying job that he wasn’t very fond of in the first place.

“You always hated that job, I don’t see why you’re so heartbroken over this. This might even turn out to be a good thing,” Hayley says. She’s the optimist to end all doubts, he swears it. Hayley could find a silver lining to a zombie apocalypse. That does not mean Gerard is happy about sitting at a barstool on a Friday night drowning his sorrows in Pepsi, because _someone_ was too cheap when opening this bar and made it a Pepsi place, not a coke place. Pepsi can go to hell and stay there. Sitting here, at this crowded bar, he’s just slightly less unhappy than he would be if he were upstairs groaning at a wall, like he had originally planned on doing.

“But I like money,” Gerard sighs.

“Well maybe the next time you have a boss who embezzles millions of dollars, commits fraud, and runs away to a foreign country, you can ask to go with,” Hayley says.

“That’s an adequate plan,” Gerard says, “but what do I do now that I have no job and am severely lacking in millions of dollars?”

“Cry,” Hayley says. 

“You’re always full of good ideas, I don’t know how you do it,” Gerard says, nodding. Hayley rolls her eyes and walks over to refill some guys drink across the bar. Hayley’s the best friend a person can have because she’s a nice person to know in general, but the best part of knowing her is that when she gets done with work she’s always willing to give Gerard the juicy details of all the people who tell her their life stories at work. Apparently, being a bartender is almost the exact same thing as being a therapist, only there’s no patient confidentiality so she can tell everyone about that time that the department store Santa proposed to her with an onion ring.

Gerard’s not about to claim that he was that great at his job. Still, he thinks he was good enough at it to not be left jobless right now. Unemployment is not ideal, and it’s mostly because of the inordinate amount of Ramen that you are forced to consume. 

Gerard sighs, turning around in the stool to scope out the crowd. There’s almost no standing room anywhere in here because it’s a Friday night, in New York, at a bar. At least half of the world’s population is inside of this bar. 

Gerard is one of the regulars, and despite living above a bar, he’s never actually been one of the patrons who’ve puked on the sidewalk outside. Seeing as he doesn’t drink is a good explanation for this, but also, he doesn’t want to puke on the sidewalk in front of where he lives. He’s not an idiot.

When Gerard turns back to watch Hayley and wait for her to come back to keep his lonesome ass company, he’s met with an unfamiliar face that is really infringing on his personal bubble. 

Gerard is not first struck by this guy’s completely unimpressive face, but by his corpse breath. Gerard’s pretty sure this dude’s breath could kill a lesser person than he. Even as it is, Gerard almost falls off his seat from the stench of it. He smells like he made a skunk, garlic, and vodka cocktail with a garnish of fuck you all the way to hell.

“Can I help you?” Gerard asks, because he doesn’t want to be a bitch, but he’s going to have to if this guy doesn’t back the fuck up soon. Or, more likely, he’ll be so restricted by his social awkwardness and need to cater to other people’s feelings, that he’ll end up married to this man. 

Shit-breath looks kind of like he could have been a lumberjack in another life, with a bristly ginger beard and an unflattering face to match. He looks like the kind of kid who stood on the edge of the gym at his prom. He also could’ve been the kid who was so ‘cool’ that he decided to ditch prom in favor of playing Halo at home with his friend with hair as greasy as his face.

In any case, Gerard does not want to be near this guy and he certainly does not want this guy to even think about flirting with him. Unfortunately, Gerard just isn’t getting the things he wants today.

“Hello gorgeous,” he says, and Gerard isn’t going to deny that he’s right about that, but there are few people on this planet who he would less rather hear that from. Donald Trump is among that small few. So is Danny Devito. Not because he doesn’t like Danny Devito, but there’s something horrific about the idea of Danny Devito telling you you’re gorgeous.

Gerard looks over at Hayley, trying to make eye contact with her so that she can help him get out of this situation but she’s busy making drinks on the other side of the bar, too many feet away from him for him to get her to come over here. He supposes he could scream but then everybody would look at him and he’d be all self-conscious and he’d probably melt into the floorboards, and he doesn’t need that today. 

“Hi, uh, I’m not really interested, thanks,” Gerard says, hoping to make this quick because he can only hold his breath for so much longer before actually passing out. He seriously needs Hayley to come rescue him. She’s his knight in shining armor.

“Oh come on,” the guy says which is not what Gerard had wanted to hear at all. He doesn’t need to have someone ‘oh come on’ him right now, he needs someone to offer him a million dollars, and the lumberjack who obviously once worked at a Trader Joes is not the person who’s going to give him that. Gerard has this gut feeling that this guy keeps a couple slices of salami in his pocket. He just seems like that kind of person. 

Gerard tries to think of something to do that doesn’t involve throwing a tin of Altoids at this guy, which will ideally knock him out, because after all, they are curiously strong.

“No, really. I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?” he asks, his voice so slurred that Gerard can barely figure out what he’s trying to say, and it doesn’t help that he’s barely speaking the right language. Gosh though, Gerard thinks that he must look irresistible today because he’s being hit on at a straight bar which is not exactly a first but it’s not particularly common either.

“I don’t drink,” Gerard says, which is not a lie. Hopefully it will repel Paul Bunyan who probably makes homemade beer in his bathtub. 

“’Course ya do,” the guy says, and Gerard can hear him burp which makes him sure he is going to pass out any fucking second now. 

In spite of Hayley still being across the bar being chatted up by some guy who actually thinks he has a chance with her, there is still one person who decides that he’s going to rescue Gerard. Gerard is in no business of denying that he is most definitely a damsel in distress, Gerard would be Daphne in any Scooby Doo type situation. He probably would not be as handy with makeup, but he’d still probably try to get in Fred’s pants.

“Hey babe, sorry I’m late,” a man says, and when Gerard turns to see this guy’s face, he has literally no clue who the hell the dude is. 

“Whaaa-” Gerard starts to ask, because he seriously doesn’t know who this guy is. He’s quite attractive, Gerard will give him that, and he would very much _like_ to know who this guy is, but that doesn’t change that fact that he doesn’t. So why the hell is this beautiful stranger all of a sudden acting like they’re best buddies, and whose dick does Gerard have to suck to make it a permanent thing? Preferably the handsome strangers. Or if James McAvoy is available. 

“Uh, who’s your friend?” the stranger with the nice face says, looking at the stranger with the not so nice face.

The one who swallowed a stink bomb looks taken aback and Gerard’s still lost when the guy says, “I didn’t realize you had a boyfriend.”

At this point, after taking a moment to decipher what the fuck this guy is trying to say, Gerard catches on to what Prince Charming is doing, and he’s seriously tempted to kiss that pretty motherfucker for saving him from this. “Yeah, yep. I’ve got a boyfriend. He’s my everything. Him and Star Wars. That’s why I don’t wanna, yeah. So you should go.”

“Yeah, sorry,” the guy says and to Gerard’s great relief, the man decides to walk away. Gerard watches as he goes and then grins widely and turns to look at the man who saved him again. If it had been this guy instead who’d chosen to flirt with Gerard, there wouldn’t have been a problem. This guy has a face that is the opposite of a problem. 

He’s one of those guys who you look at and all you can do is picture how good they are at cuddling. Like he’s just got this vibe radiating off of him that makes Gerard want to hug him, but to be fair, Gerard is a hugger and wants to hug most people. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” Gerard says as a thank you and the guy laughs and Gerard gets a little dizzy off of the sound of this guy laughing. He’s seriously considering proposing to this beautiful stranger. Hayley would probably use that as a dinner table story though, and he’s not going to give her the satisfaction. 

Gerard doesn’t have much of a barrier most of the time, which is weird because he’s completely afraid of social situations but once he’s already in one and it’s inescapable, he starts to say whatever he’s thinking which gets him into a lot of trouble on occasion. 

“Well he looked kind of sleazy,” the guy replies, “it’s no problem.”

“Yeah but I’d probably have ended up dating him for three weeks out of fear that it’d be awkward,” Gerard says, because that has happened before. And it will probably happen again.

“That would have been a tragedy, I’m pretty sure he had halitosis,” the guy says. “So now that he’s gone would it be totally outrageous if _I_ hit on you instead?”

“No, go ahead,” Gerard says, “I’d actually be disappointed if you didn’t.”

The guy smiles, almost shyly, but not quite, because he still has confidence overflowing off of him which is a turn on for Gerard. So is a pulse, but that does not undermine how nice of a face this guy has. Gerard’s just easy.

“Okay gimme a second, I’ve got to google bad pickup lines on my phone,” he says, pulling it out, and yeah, Gerard is already in love with him. 

“You’ve got me on pins and needles,” Gerard grins, but in reality there’s nothing he wants more than to have someone hit on him with bad puns. That’s the only way he can envision meeting his future husband. 

“Okay, here we go,” he says, clearing his throat so that Gerard has time to prepare himself for the corniness of what’s to follow. “You must be getting tired, because you’ve been running through my head all night.”

Gerard frowns, because he’d been kind of excited for physically painful eye rolling, and that’s just not going to cut it. “Oh come on, you can do better than that.”

“How about this, can I have your phone number, because I’ve lost mine,” he says, and it’s better but Gerard’s heard it before. He’s pretty sure this was a segment on Ellen, and Gerard is the gayest person ever, if Ellen has said it, Gerard has probably embroidered it on a pillow. 

“Nah, keep trying.”

“They’re all dirty!” he says.

“Lay them on me, I can handle it,” Gerard says.

“Alright, well, you’re like my little toe, because I’m going to bang you on every piece of furniture in my home.”

“There ya go,” Gerard says, “you’re going to get further with me the dirtier and stupider they get.”

“Do you like pizza?” he asks, to which Gerard makes a face that expresses the ‘duh’ his eyes are saying. “Well, pizza is my second favorite thing to eat in bed.”

“Fuck,” Gerard says, snorting, “well if you had me alone the pants would be across the room by now.” 

“Okay try me,” he says, “I haven’t groaned profusely yet today.”

“You will later, baby,” Gerard says, and that wasn’t even his attempt at a pick up line, it was just staring Gerard right in the face.

“Fair enough,” he says, “I walked into that one, it’s my fault.”

Gerard laughs quite airily which usually only happens when he’s super happy. Seriously though, Gerard falls in love with most strangers, it’s just his thing, he falls in love with little things about people he’ll never talk to or see again. He falls in love with the curvature of a face, the way an eyebrow crooks, the color of people’s eyes. He’s a slut for half the people he walks past on the street. He’s never quite felt this floaty before though.

“I’ve only got one,” Gerard says, cracking his knuckles, because it’s so bad that it’s deserving of the melodrama. “Call me Greedo because I never shoot first.”

“Oh my god that was so awful my dead ancestors cringed. But you’d have me naked at that,” the guy says. “By the way, when you tell your friends about this weird encounter at a later date, it should be noted that my name is Frank.”

“And I’m Gerard. When you describe me to your coworkers, tell them that I have ethereal bedroom eyes that could stop a train in its tracks,” Gerard says. He’s very unhappy that he has to force his gaze away from this beautiful godlike man a moment later because he can feel Hayley looking at him. She’s raising her eyebrows at him like she can just _tell_. She’s got a sixth sense for those sort of things, she always knows what’s going on with Gerard before he does, it’s kind of freaky. His appendix burst last year, and Hayley had already taken the day off from work before he’d called to tell her. 

“I couldn’t forget to mention that,” Frank says, “it’s the first thing I noticed, besides that smile that gives a fairy it’s wings.”

“Oh you,” Gerard says, barely getting the words out before gagging on them.

“Can I buy you a drink then?”

“I don’t drink actually,” Gerard responds.

“So you just hang out in bars for the ambiance?” Frank asks.

“What can I say, I’m drawn to beer bums.”

“Your childhood must have been awful.”

“It’s such a sob story, you couldn’t bear it,” Gerard says, looking dramatically off into the distance, like he’s finally in the soap operas he claims he doesn’t watch.

“Try me,” Frank responds.

“I was born with glass bones and paper skin. Every morning I break my legs, and every afternoon I break my arms. At night, I lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep.”

“That is… a series of unfortunate events,” Frank replies.

“I’m probably going to end up proposing to you in five minutes, I swear to god,” Gerard says. “Where have you been all my life?”

“In a cupboard, under some stairs.”

Gerard’s brain is on red alert because he’s pretty sure this guy is his other half. Gerard is a peculiar person to begin with, so usually people don’t understand what the hell he’s saying. He is also very easily overlooked, so not only do people not understand him, but they also usually ignore him. This Frank guy however is right on the same level as Gerard, in some weird parallel dimension that even Gerard doesn’t really comprehend. Basically, Gerard is a giant fucking dork with a weird sense of humor, and Frank has a similar, yet different, sense of humor, and this for Gerard is considered a bingo, homerun, or hole in one, whichever metaphor you prefer.

“So you just sit here wasting away as you mourn your fragile nature?” Frank asks, “I feel like a bar isn’t the best place for that specific brand of brooding.”

Gerard laughs, “I actually just got fired. Or, well, not fired. My boss ran away to Cuba because he was embezzling money, so like, I was kind of put out of work unexpectedly.”

“Really?” Frank asks, trying not to laugh, because he doesn’t think it would be polite to laugh at Gerard losing his job.

“It’s fine, laugh all you want. If I were a standup comedian, this would be gold. But yeah, it’s true. But I’m here drowning my sorrows, so to speak, in diet Pepsi, and maybe if I’m feeling adventurous, I’ll step it up to just plain old Pepsi.”

“You mad animal,” Frank says.

“I’m just one hell of an antichrist, I guess. And you?”

“Me? No, I’m Satan himself.”

Gerard laughs, “no, I meant why are you here? Scouting out the chicks?”

“Oh absolutely!” Frank says. “I am so straight. So goddamn straight. So straight that words can’t describe it. So straight that I don’t even know who Madonna is.” Gerard can tell that Frank is joking, because honestly, sometimes you don’t even need to have a Gaydar to know that someone is bent as a fucking rainbow. It also helps that Frank asked Gerard if he could hit on him.

“See I got that vibe from you,” Gerard replies. “And let me guess, you love NASCAR.”

“Oh you betcha,” Frank says, “the way they just… drive around that court thing. A rink? A stadium? A pitch?”

“Hell if I know,” Gerard says.

Frank nods, “I love it. I just love cars… and boobs.”

“Oh absolutely.”

Frank breaks into this shit-eating grin and says, “I’m trying so hard right now not to jump you, you are so fucking adorable.”

“Thanks, I try,” Gerard grins back. He doesn’t know why, but Gerard always gets called ‘cute’ and adorable,’ he’s rarely, if ever, been called hot. He thinks it has something to do with his dimples.

Frank thinks that Gerard is totally hot. So long as you imagine him bent over. Otherwise he’s just an overlarge teddy bear.

Frank on the other hand is hot enough to be a porn star, the kind that people obsess over not the ones who are just static compared to other porn stars. He would be the kind that people actually remember the name of. Frank would be the Queen Latifah of porn stars. 

“So why are you here then?” Gerard asks, “Assuming that the blinking red sign above your head saying homosexual isn’t a dead giveaway.”

“One of my coworkers actually just hit the big three-o. Or, I mean, I guess this is the sixtieth anniversary of her thirtieth birthday. She’s actually a small duffle bag full of dust and bones that we pretend still has a pulse.”

“You work with Mick Jagger?” Gerard asks, with mock excitement.

Frank snorts and the sound makes Gerard’s heart convulse like a rock skipped over water.

“I’m already planning my wedding to you for fucks sake, stop looking at me like that,” Gerard says.

“Like what?”

“You know precisely what you’re doing. You work on that mug in mirrors, I know you do,” Gerard says. 

“Alright, maybe I do know, I just wanted to hear it out loud. I like being told I’m cute, I live for it,” Frank replies.

“You must have a really fulfilling life then. You probably get hit on by straight dudes. My brother is nauseatingly heterosexual and he’d bang you senseless.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Frank responds. 

“It’s not a good line,” Gerard says, “people tend to think it’s a little invasive.”

“Who could turn you down though?” Frank asks. Gerard is either blushing or he’s getting heated up because he’s literally so attracted to this guy that it hurts. He just might implode if he doesn’t make out with him soon.

“Well shucks,” Gerard says, rolling his eyes. “It’s true though, I am drop dead gorgeous.”

“You’re not going to see me arguing with you on that one.” 

“Marry me,” Gerard deadpans.

“Took you long enough to ask, didn’t it?” Frank grins back. Gerard wants nothing more than to have this guy alone to do either unspeakable things to him or learn every single last thing there is to know about him. Maybe both, Gerard can multitask. 

Frank is about to say something else when a commotion behind them pulls their attentions away from each other, which is an impressive feat considering the fact that Gerard is seriously considering handcuffing himself to this beautiful, beautiful man.

The red-headed Santa who’d been hitting on Gerard has just decided that it would be a good idea to puke right in the middle of the floor. Right there with several dozen spectators. Barely five feet from where Gerard sits.

“Well that’s unpleasant,” Frank says.

“See this is why we don’t mix tequila with red bull,” Hayley shouts loudly from behind the bar. Luckily for her, she’s not the one who has to clean it up. Gerard grimaces as he looks at the guy, just imagining how he’d been hitting on Gerard a few minutes earlier. Frank saved him from that, Gerard doesn’t want to know what would have happened if he hadn’t. Gerard probably would have had someone puke on him. Oddly enough, that too wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened. 

“Yeah,” Gerard says, “do you maybe want to not be in a place in such close proximity to the insides of Halitosis Jones.”

“But sir,” Frank says in a bad accent that Gerard can’t even pinpoint the attempted to origin of, “we only just met.”

“And I’ve already named our future children,” he replies, “we’ve long since passed that stage.”

“I’ll leave with you but only if I can murder you in a dark alleyway.”

“Baby, you can stab me as much as you want and with my dying breath I will _thank_ you,” Gerard says to him.

“That sounds a little extreme, I only do that to my enemies,” Frank responds. “But it’s seriously starting to smell in here, so the sooner we leave the better.”

“There’s a hardware store across the street,” Gerard says.

“I’d literally rather be trampled by an army of superhuman armadillos then go into a hardware store,” Frank replies.

“You’re my other half.”

“You are easier than a maze on a kid’s menu.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Gerard says, pretending to get choked up.

“Oh I love you,” Frank replies. Gerard’s really into this teasing thing they’ve got going on. Usually when you meet a new person, you have to know them for at least a couple of minutes before you can start to pick up on their sense of humor, but Gerard feels like this guy is on the same wavelength as him. It’s like half of the jokes on Gerard’s repertoire, Frank wrote the book on.

“Who’s easy now?” Gerard says, standing up and walking towards the door, and he is hoping, and fucking _praying_ , that Frank is staring at his ass. These are his good jeans. They’re not very comfortable but his butt looks like a million bucks. To be fair, his butt looks like a couple hundred thousand on a bad day, but he’s allowed to celebrate the little victories when he meets them.

Frank is totally staring at his ass.

Gerard turns to see Frank following him, like Gerard’s got this almost-stranger wrapped around his finger, and it’s amazing. He catches Hayley’s eye once more before he pushes the door open and she looks like she’s seeing if the guy Gerard’s got is worthy of him. When she spots him and evaluates Frank, she makes a face like she’s thinking and gestures that he’s alright. Gerard will take it. Alright is already above his usual standards.

Gerard looks at Frank again and debates whether or not this is actually happening. Gerard’s dreams usually are fairly elaborate; he would not be at all surprised to learn that this is all just some complicated dream he’s going to wake up from. Gerard is full to the brim with sarcasm and cynicism, but by god if he isn’t unforgivingly charmed by Frank.

For now, though, Gerard’s got a hypnotic spell over Frank, put there by their mutual oddities, and that’s good enough to risk wherever this whim may take him. And oh, the places he’ll go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you like the first chapter! I love you all for reading, I hope to write more soon.


	2. Crushcrushcrush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> World domination and potential murder.

“Ah the whole world is at my fingers!” Frank screams as soon as he steps out onto the street. He says it rather loudly and they are in one of the biggest, most populous cities in the world, it’s safe to say Gerard is not the only person who heard.

“Well, your feet,” Gerard says, “but only given the assumption that you recently came into a very large sum of cash seeing as this world is very strictly dictated by a highly insignificant thing called _money_.”

“Oh your cynicism, it won’t get me down,” Frank says, with a fake laugh that can only be described as a chortle which is a word Gerard would never touch with a nine-foot stick. 

It’s not quite cold outside, but it’s not warm either. It’s the transition between autumn and winter that makes you think you don’t need a coat outside, but once night falls you realize you were mistaken. It’s cold enough that Gerard wishes he had Frank wrapped around him. Frank doesn’t look remotely cold because he’s wearing a jacket, he must have listened to his mother as a child when she advised him to wear a coat. Gerard always rebelled and regretted it every single time he stepped foot outside his house. Things have not changed that much since living with his mother.

“You have a lovely perspective,” Gerard replies, “I appreciate it.”

“Oh my optimism? It’s all a ploy!” 

“How so?”

“See, I’m actually following an ongoing one-man attempt to take over the world. It’s not been fruitful so far, but I don’t want the general population to catch on, so I pretend to be just the most frolicking little man the world has ever seen. But someday, you’ll see.”

“Ah, but what kind of ruler would you be?” Gerard asks, “more Voldemort or Dr. Drakken?”

“Blue’s not my color,” Frank says making a face, “I was thinking more Brain à la Pinky and the, it fits me more.”

“Oh I get it,” Gerard says, “you are also very short, and have a large head.”

“Precisely!” Frank responds. “Really my long term goal is to just have someone name an ice cream flavor after me. If world domination is the route I take to achieve that, then so be it.”

“Believe it or not, that’s my life goal too.”

“See, and I knew we had a historic future together, they’ll write anthologies about us for sure,” Frank says, “I could see it when I saw your ass. I mean eyes.”

“You know just what to say to find the key to my little heart.”

“I say the same thing to all the boys,” Frank says.

“I’m touched.”

“You’d better believe it, honey,” Frank replies, and honestly it sounds wrong coming from him, but he says it with confidence which gives him maybe a little of his dignity back. Not much though. “You’ve got quite a nice face. If there’s anyone who I would consider taking along with me as my coconspirator it would be you. But we’re not quite at that level, you’ve got to prove your worth before I can make you my right-hand man.”

“I’m honored that you would even consider me. The only talent I can bring to the table is that I can spell onomatopoeia.”

“You’re hired,” Frank replies. Gerard actually feels some pride, but it’s probably not because he earned Frank’s approval, it’s because Frank grinned at him when he said that and he feels honored to be able to personally view this man smiling up close.

“So where in the world-”

“Is Carmen Sandiago?” Frank finishes for him, and Gerard decides to punch him in the arm. They’ve known each other for about ten minutes now, he feels he’s earned the right to punch him. 

“I was going to say, where the hell are we actually going?” Gerard asks.

“I thought you knew, I was following you?” Frank replies, and Gerard shakes his head. “Well in that case we’re heading north. Or south. Or west, or east. I don’t carry a compass with me.”

“I have a compass app on my phone,” Gerard shrugs.

“That seems entirely unnecessary. It’s the twenty first century, who uses a compass? How often do you find yourself lost at sea? Possibly chasing after the revenge you seek on a whale who took your leg?” 

“It’s one of those apps you can’t delete.” 

“Oh, I see like the stocks app,” Frank says, “because I, as a twenty-seven-year-old male, absolutely know what a stock is.”

“I’m still surprised that stock doesn’t pertain to corn,” Gerard shrugs. 

“Here, I’ve got a dumb idea,” Frank says, looking excited, “get out your compass app and we’ll head north.”

“Why north?”

“I’m not sure on the exact coordinates, but I have heard rumors that Santa lives up north.”

“Yeah, I can give you coordinates. That would be the north fucking pole,” Gerard responds, “but I’m game, let’s head north.”

Gerard pulls out his phone, and he gets the feeling that Frank would be a backseat driver when he starts telling Gerard what to do, like he can’t find the app on his own phone. But Gerard doesn’t get mad, it’s cute. Frank’s cute. 

Gerard looks at Frank as he looks at Gerard’s phone, trying to find the right direction. Up close, Frank is a sight to be seen. He’s got a strong jaw, with some stubble down his face because he’s apparently got the capability of growing facial hair, which Gerard is still waiting for. His eyebrows are literally perfect, they’re the kind that people spend hours watching makeup tutorials to achieve. Up close, Gerard can see some color peeking out on his neck, which you can’t make out from a distance because he’s wearing a button up, probably because his job demands it. Gerard would love to see the full spectrum, and that steers his mind down a Rated R path, because he sure as hell wants to know what parts of Frank are and aren’t tattooed. The most noticeable thing about Frank are his eyes. Gerard’s a fool for a man with brown eyes. Frank’s eyes are like brown M&M’s. Gerard loves M&M’s. 

Frank points in the direction that the app is claiming is north, which is across the street from where they are now.

“Remember kids, look both ways before crossing,” Frank says in the best second grade teacher voice he can muster.

“Jaywalking is only illegal if you get caught!” Gerard says hurrying across the road, Frank behind him, not heeding his own warning.

“But if you get hit by a bus than good luck having to face the almighty ‘I told you so’ of Jesus himself.”

“Jesus is always telling me what to do,” Gerard says, rolling his eyes. He makes it across the road and looks behind him to see Frank grinning at him like Gerard’s got the best face ever. Or maybe it’s just the adrenaline. Gerard chooses to assume the former. 

“You’re literally the cutest person ever,” Frank says. 

“That’s what my mom always tells me,” Gerard replies.

“When I meet her,” Frank says, assuming that he is Gerard’s betrothed as of about five minutes ago, “remind me to thank her for passing along some awesome genes.”

“My brother got all the good ones.”

“Yeah, but you got the nice face.”

“Touché,” Gerard laughs. However, based on all the girls who had tripped over themselves to date Mikey in high school, it may not have been an exclusive trait.

“Man, you and I would make some really gorgeous babies were it humanly possible,” Frank remarks, possibly to himself, but Gerard snorts at it. “You better believe I would use the Sims hack to make it happen.”

“What a horrific mental image,” Gerard says.

“Yeah, no, I take it back, that’s some seriously disturbing shit right there.”

“I mean they _would_ be pretty cute,” Gerard notes. If they had Frank’s eyes and jaw, and Gerard’s nose, and cheekbones, those kids could initiate world peace.

“They’d make all the other kids feel bad about themselves. And that’s what I strive for. I strive for six year olds to have low self-esteem.”

“So you weren’t kidding when you said that you were Satan, were you?” Gerard asks.

Frank laughs lightly, “you know, I work with kids actually. Bunch of little dicks, but I’d take a bullet for every single one of them. Except Eric. Eric can go to hell. I mean Eric’s seven, but he can still go to hell.”

Gerard makes a mental note that this is why his teacher voice was so good. It’s probably because he’s literally a pro at it by now. The key to a teacher voice is being able to say ridiculous things with a serious tone. Something like ‘Jonah, do not put that Lego in your nose’ without laughing at the mere thought of a kid putting a Lego in his nose. Gerard couldn’t do that job. He would take a photo of Jonah with a Lego up his nose.

“That’s a really passionate hatred if you’re willing to use a seven-year-old as a human shield,” Gerard says, but he likes the idea of Frank working with kids. He can already see the huge smile Frank must have with them. He’s probably more adorable than most of the kids. And Gerard has most definitely got a thing for people who are good with kids. That’s on the top of his list, aside from every other trait he has learned of Frank so far. If Frank is flexible than Gerard would have a bingo with Frank.

“The bitch deserves it,” Frank shakes his head, “but anyway, before your boss ran away, what did you do?”

“I played minesweeper for approximately eight hours a day,” Gerard says.

“Sounds like it would get boring after a while,” Frank remarks.

“Oh man, it does. There was a certain level of boredom that was so vile it forced you to do actual work. That’s rock bottom, dude, actually doing your job.”

“So a cubicle then?” Frank asks.

“Am I that transparent?” Gerard asks.

“You’ve got pencil pusher written across your forehead.”

“Unsurprising. I do live on the couch of a frat house. I’m just glad my forehead doesn’t say Brony. Again.”

Frank grins, looks at him and then down at the sidewalk. He’s not sure where they’re heading, other than that they are heading north. There’s no real destination in mind, it’s just wandering. It’s a good way to get yourself murdered in New York, but hey, it’s home. 

Gerard’s got little to no brawn at all so his only defense in warding off potential killers is just his unassuming face and nature. He’s so easy to forget the existence of. Gerard once got sat on because someone didn’t notice him. Gerard could literally be Mia Thermopolis. Aside from the royalty thing. But he too loves cats and Chris Pine.

The fact that Frank has noticed him, let alone is still here with him, walking to who knows where, it’s a rare event. Gerard always gets stuck with scumbags because they’re the only ones who take notice of him. Frank doesn’t strike him as a scumbag and Gerard prides himself with being a very good judge of character, so the fact that Gerard’s got a good feeling about Frank is almost an impossibility. He’s never hit on by people who don’t make his skin crawl, and Frank, Frank gives him goosebumps, but not the bad kind. 

Frank is trying to keep himself composed but he’s got jitters all up along his body, especially in his chest. He feels like this is more than just a fluke or a coincidence. Gerard has got a really important role to play in Frank’s life, and he hasn’t quite figured out what it is yet, but he sure as hell knows what his ideal casting would be. 

Frank doesn’t normally get nervous around guys, and he’s not nervous now, he just wants to get things going, wants to know everything about Gerard. He wants to not be held back by societies limits, because he knows he only just met this guy. They’ve known each other for no more than twenty minutes, but already Frank wants to have checked off dozens of milestones. He’s not nervous around Gerard, he’s excited to know more, and impatient at the time it’ll take to do so.

“So what would you actually be doing if life weren’t a bitch?” Frank asks, “or, what will you potentially do now that your boss is tanning alongside murderers on a remote island in the Pacific?”

“I actually want to do animation?” Gerard says, like he’s questioning himself for actually wanting to do that. He knows what he wants, but he doesn’t like saying it out loud for him to have to bear people looking at him with such a look of incredulous superiority. 

“Sick,” Frank says, which is lacking in the judgmental tone that most people use when Gerard says that. “Maybe if you get famous enough, the kids will watch something you’ve made when I go into work with a hangover.”

“That’s why teachers play videos?” Gerard asks, awestruck.

“Industry secret,” Frank says, winking, “but yeah.”

“Oh my god my entire childhood makes sense now,” Gerard says, thinking back to all the times Mr. Michealson had made them watch movies that _almost_ pertained to history but not quite. Like Newsies, and Phantom of the Opera, and really that dude must have just had a thing for musicals.

“Oh my god and that’s why teachers drink so much coffee,” Gerard says.

“That and it’s literally impossible to even be near a child without coffee. I once tried to quit coffee and my experiment failed after I almost cried when a kid asked me how to spell ‘giraffe.’”

“Giraffes do have that effect on people,” Gerard says, grinning. 

“Shut up,” Frank grins, shaking his head. Gerard is definitely falling in love with this guy, little by little. He’s probably going to tell Mikey about this tomorrow and Mikey won’t believe a word he says, because Mikey doesn’t believe that anybody can possibly find his brother attractive in anyway. That’s not to say that Mikey is a bad brother, he is just repulsed by the mere thought of anyone finding Gerard in any way good looking. The same can be said of Gerard’s view of Mikey. Mikey is gross. Mikey may be really great at Guitar Hero, but he’s still gross. That being said, there is no person on this planet who is nearly good enough for Mikey, but all siblings have odd relationships. Mikey usually has more of a say in Gerard’s love life than Gerard does. 

“You know,” Gerard says, “there’s a tea store just down that road, over there.”

“That sounds like a hipster breeding ground,” Frank says, “Let’s go.”

“You really want to be asked who your favorite Star Trek captain is while Florence + the Machine plays in the background?”

“Absolutely,” Frank says, excitedly walking down the street Gerard had pointed to. Gerard just really wants coffee. Wanting coffee is Gerard’s default mood, he’s only got like four different moods. His four mods are sleepy, want coffee, bored, and _need_ coffee. Gerard is like a car, only instead of gasoline, he needs coffee, otherwise he breaks down in the middle of a road and people honk at him.

Gerard is lost in thought, thinking about a million different things and mostly Frank and how much he wants to see Frank naked and in his bed, but he feels that this whole back and forth thing would stop abruptly if he were to drop that bomb right now.

“We going to go make fun of hipsters whose lives revolve around Sarah McLachlan or not?”

“I’m always game to make fun of people who quote Robert Frost unironically.” 

“I see someone has traveled the road less taken,” Frank says. Frank has this glint in his eyes, like he has some bigger intentions than he’s letting on. Not necessarily malicious ones, he just looks like a sly motherfucker that Gerard would fall so hard for. As it is, Gerard is already falling.

“We’re going to get up to some hella mischief aren’t we?” Gerard asks Frank, because he can sense it. Something tells him this night is not even slightly over. This pleases him on more than one level.

“Oh yes,” Frank says, grinning back at Gerard. Frank has every intention of making Gerard fall in love with him in the next two to seven thousand hours. Because he also has every intention of knowing Gerard for that long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all having a wonderful day, please leave a comment if you feel comfortable doing so, because comments always make my days more wonderful! If you don't feel comfortable commenting, have a wonderful day anyway!


	3. Let The Flames Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Board games, innuendos, and board game innuendos.

“After you,” Frank says, opening the door for him. Gerard’s almost shot backwards at the smell of tea, and it’s not a bad smell at all, it’s quite nice, but it’s the kind of intoxicating smell that would make you easily susceptible to hypnosis.

“What a gentleman,” Gerard replies.

“Nope, just trying to look at your ass.”

“I meant what I said,” Gerard says, because he is really genuinely fond of his own butt. 

“I love a man with confidence.”

Gerard walks up to the counter, he’s been here many times before and it’s mostly because of the proximity to work. Gerard used to be able to walk to work, and this place was right on the way, but he supposes that those days are over now. That’s fine, Starbucks makes better coffee anyway. 

Gerard stops before the counter waiting for Frank to look at the menu even though most people already know their coffee order, even when entering a new place. Everyone knows their own coffee order, it’s like knowing your social security number or name.

“Oh they have cannoli’s, I need a cannoli,” Frank says, then turns to Gerard, “Cannoli’s are phallic shaped, I always try to indulge on phallic shaped objects when I’m on a date, and they don’t have any bananas.” He says it barely out of earshot of the cashier but close enough that Gerard feels self-conscious. 

“So this is a date?” Gerard asks, which is probably not the part of that sentence that he should have clung to.

Frank goes a little pink and Gerard falls a mile or two further down the pit of his ever growing adoration for this man who he is sixty percent sure he’s going to marry someday. The percentage is going up every five minutes or so. In twenty minutes Gerard will probably suggest they take a road trip to Atlantic City. For a shotgun marriage of course, not for gambling and hookers.

“Fuck,” Frank says, “I love you.”

The cashier, who looks like the epitome of white trash, she’s even got the unwashed dreadlocks to prove it, is literally eating the two of them up like a four course meal. She thinks they’re just the cutest thing ever. Gerard thinks that she’s probably the kind of girl who loves gay guys but thinks lesbians are gross. She’s the kind of person Gerard would probably not feel bad about accidentally hitting with a car.

“How long have you two known each other?” she asks, and oh man, Gerard is sure he is fueling her fantasies tonight.

“Oh, about ten minutes,” Gerard says.

“Don’t trivialize our love,” Frank snaps at him, “more like fifteen.”

This squashes the cashiers creepy, creepy dreams and Gerard’s never been more pleased with himself.

“So what do you want?” She asks, looking less enthused than she had a moment earlier.

“Just a coffee,” Gerard says.

“Decaf?” she asks, and Gerard shakes his head.

“At this time of night?” Frank says with a startlingly bad southern accent. He doesn’t know why it is that it makes Gerard’s heart stutter, but it does. He wants to see Frank really offend some dude from Texas with that accent. His gayness would also do the trick, but it would be funnier the other way. 

“I have a feeling I’m going to be up a while,” Gerard says. 

“Call that an innuendo,” Frank says. “Speaking of, I’ll have what he’s having.”

Gerard turns to him and says, “So for girl’s names, I really like the name Delilah.”

“I like that,” Frank says, “it’s pretty.”

“Just like you.”

“I know,” Frank says. Gerard just grins at him and considers holding his hand maybe. He doesn’t know if they’re _there_ yet. Joking aside, he’s not sure where Frank stands on the whole hand holding thing. Taking joking into consideration, they should be celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary sometime in the next five minutes. 

“What are you doing?” Gerard asks when Frank gets out his wallet like he’s about to pay. There is no way Gerard is going to let Frank pay. Gerard is a gentleman. His mother raised him right.

“What?” Frank asks.

“I’m not going to let you pay,” Gerard replies, grabbing his own wallet from his pocket.

“Yes you are, I’m being chivalrous.”

“What if _I_ want to be chivalrous?” 

“Tough shit,” Frank replies.

“No but I want to pay,” Gerard says, and he can tell they’re about to have a debate about politeness so he prepares himself.

“But I got there first,” Frank says, and Gerard doesn’t know what he means. Maybe Frank reached to pay first, but Gerard had had the intention of it originally, so he doesn’t know who actually decided to pay first.

“Oh this is so hard. I’m beginning to understand why people hate the gays, it’s so hard to figure out who pays,” Gerard says, as a joke, but there is some truth to it. This is a genuine debate he’s had with most of the guys he’s dated. And then there’s the fact that you always pull out the others chair for them and then there’s an awkward moment when you both stare at each other because now you might as well just sit down in the chair you pulled out. It’s a really confusing situation.

“Only one way to solve it,” Frank states.

“And how is that?”

“Thumb war it out.”

Gerard looks at him, waiting for Frank to say ‘psyche’ but he doesn’t so he just shakes his head and says, “you’re completely serious aren’t you?”

“I’m never kidding when it comes to thumbs,” Frank says. 

“You will be the death of me.”

“It’ll be poison,” Frank responds, nodding, putting out his hand, like he’s about to handshake, but it’s far more childish than that. Gerard takes his hand, and he supposes that this is close to hand holding. That is until he’s literally having a thumb war with a man who is almost thirty years old.

“The poison for me?” Gerard asks.

“The poison chosen specifically to kill Gerard,” Frank nods.

“That poison,” Gerard says, as his thumb gets what he thinks to himself is the upper hand until he realizes the horrible pun there. Honestly though, Gerard’s thumb is just way bigger than Frank’s and this was barely even a thumb scuffle let alone a thumb war. Gerard isn’t too focused on winning as much as he is on trying figure out what Frank’s knuckles say, but he can’t tell, so he makes a mental note to try later.

“Fuck,” Frank says, when Gerard’s thumb is victorious. Gerard can’t help it, Frank’s just got smaller hands. Frank is somewhat intimidated but he reminds himself that not everything about him is smaller than Gerard’s, in all likelihood.

“Fair is fair,” Gerard says, grabbing his wallet from his pocket again, and grinning. Really, he doesn’t know why he’s the one whose happy about spending money. It’s a date thing, he thinks. You always want to be the guy who pays, it makes you seem kinder.

“Fine, but I’m paying for your boob job.”

“It’s a deal,” Gerard says, turning his attention back to the cashier who looks wigged the fuck out. She just decides to ignore them apparently and turns to get them their coffees while Frank continues to behave like the most adorable puppy on the face of the planet. Gerard is practically crooning over him, he’s literally just so fucking adorable. 

When the cashier sets their coffees on the counter, not even bothering to make eye contact, or say anything to them, Gerard looks at the cup happily. 

“I love coffee so much,” Gerard says.

“I love you so much,” Frank says, grabbing his cup and walking over, beckoning Gerard to follow him. The coffee shop has a few tables with pillows instead of chairs, which makes it even easier to lure a hipster, like they couldn’t do that already. Though this place is starting to get popular which means it’s no longer popular, because hipsters will only go there if they liked it before it was cool.

Gerard instead goes for a table with a chair, because he is a grown ass man who uses chairs. He doesn’t have the youth in him to sit on a pillow at a table. He’s also too old for bean bag chairs. 

“Okay, it’s question time,” Frank says, “if we can’t successfully win in a Newlywed game type situation than this isn’t real love.”

“That seems completely fair,” Gerard nods. 

“Alright, I’m going first. Tell me about you.”

“What exactly about me?” Gerard asks.

“Just anything. Summarize your life for me.”

“Okay, I uh, I’m 29, I have a brother called Mikey, I’m riddled with debt, I love punk music and I unironically like musicals.”

Frank nods and says, “I’m 7 years old on a good day, no siblings, also love punk music, I’m the annoying vegetarian friend, and I really love comic books.”

“I also love comic books,” Gerard says.

“Who needs eHarmony when we have each other?” 

“Rich people.” 

“Okay, important question here. Have any dogs?” Frank asks.

“No,” Gerard shakes his head. “We have a cat, he’s black and fluffy. So fittingly, his name is Billie Joe Armstrong.”

“We?” Frank asks.

“My roommate and I,” Gerard says.

“Oh gosh, I’m getting breaking news here, new development, green eyed monster sighting in the general vicinity of where I am currently sitting,” Frank says, sounding a little nervous.

“ _She_ is nothing to worry about.”

“Oh okay,” Frank says, sounding instantly relieved, “Pardon my jealousy when we literally are not even dating.”

“It’s fine,” Gerard says. Gerard wouldn’t consider himself to be a very jealous person, he’s pretty confident in himself, and he genuinely believes the best in people. He doesn’t get jealous often because he just doesn’t believe people are capable of doing mean things. He’s been burned by that feeling before, but he still maintains his belief. 

“I fell in love with a roommate once. Not a good situation to be in,” Frank says, “I’m just irrationally worried about that now for all time, which is hypocritical but sometimes I’m a shitty person and I don’t care.”

“What happened?” Gerard asks, hoping that it’s not too personal a question.

“He found out,” Frank says, “and he didn’t feel the same way. He wasn’t a dick about it or anything, he honestly felt bad about the situation, but it got really awkward. Eventually he just moved out.”

“And how about now? New roommate?” 

“Yeah, Ray,” Frank says, “straight as an arrow, which shoots even the idea in the water. What’s your roommate like?”

“I’ve known Hayley for, wow, since the first week of college,” Gerard says. “She lived in the hall adjacent to mine and we shared a kitchen. We bonded over Ghostbusters, and we’ve been biffles ever since.”

“That sounds like a teenage romantic movie where you’re the fairy godmother character whose best friends with the lead, and you’re there only to serve the purpose of monopolizing on homosexual stereotypes.”

“Starring Dylan O’Brien.”

“I’d watch the fuck out of that movie,” Frank says.

“Who can resist Dylan O’Brien?” Gerard asks, “I’d let him slit my throat with a butter knife. In the lounge.”

“I’d let you kill me with a candlestick. In the kitchen.”

“Oh yeah, talk board game to me,” Gerard says in the only sultry voice he can muster without laughing at himself.

“We should play monopoly sometime,” Frank says, “we could go for _hours_ without any breaks.”

“Fuck yeah,” Gerard says, and he’s starting to scare himself. He’s never had such a weirdly sexual conversation about board games before and he’s not sure why it is that it’s happening, but he knows he doesn’t like it. Well, he likes it a little bit.

“I’ll settle your Catan.”

“You have a ticket to ride anytime, baby.”

“Your weird kink aside,” Frank says, derailing the conversation before it _really_ lands in the gutter, “let’s do a lightning round to speed things up. Favorite superhero?”

“Wolverine,” Gerard says, “Cereal of choice?”

“Cinnamon toast crunch. Favorite Harry Potter book?”

“Azkaban. Candy bar?” 

“Kit Kat. Maguire or Garfield?” Frank asks.

“Garfield,” Gerard says, and Frank raises an eyebrow at him, “I know what I’m about, son. Drake or Josh?”

“Josh,” Frank says, grinning at the question, “pizza topping?”

“Only if I have a coupon, I’m not rolling in money to put shit _on_ pizza,” Gerard says.

“Fair enough,” Frank nods. “Now we both get one philosophical question.”

“Okay, I’m ready, hit me.”

“What fictional character from anything do you identify with the most?”

“Nice question,” Gerard says, and he has to stop to think about it. “I have to say Willow from Buffy.”

Frank evaluates Gerard for a minute before saying, “You know, I don’t know why but I get it. And in case you’re wondering, I’m Toph from Avatar. Okay, you go.”

Gerard thinks and he tries to find the question that will divulge the utter depths of Frank, so what he asks is the only logical thing he can think of, “what’s something you wish you could change?”

“Change about what?” Frank asks.

“Anything,” Gerard says, “if you could change anything what would you change?”

“Uh, the number of digits in my bank account?” Frank offers, before shaking his head, “no I’m just joking. Though it would be nice. If I could change something, it would be that people would be kind to others. People would understand that we’re all humans and the only way to get through life is by being humane to others. Universal decency, because kindness is rare on this planet, especially genuine kindness. So that’s what I would change, if I could change anything.”

“That was a really dope answer,” Gerard nods, looking at Frank like they’re on their honeymoon and all he wants in the world is Frank. 

“Thanks, I am pretty wise,” Frank says, but Gerard can tell that he’s happy that Gerard appreciates it. He really does, he likes Frank. He likes that he can just ask him a weirdly broad question and get a real answer to it. He just likes the way Frank thinks, the way he talks, the sound of his voice, the way he enunciates words, everything. He could spend years memorizing Frank’s voice, the words he uses and the way he puts them in a sentence. Gerard’s never been so fascinated in the way someone talks before, and it’s because Frank’s different somehow. Frank seems like he’s on a different frequency to the other people Gerard’s met, a frequency that matches Gerard’s own. It’s like Gerard found the right channel to talk to Frank through a walkie-talkie.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Frank asks, which sounds like dialogue straight out of that Dylan O’Brien movie.

Gerard doesn’t know why he’s looking at Frank; he doesn’t know how he must look. There’s nothing that isn’t interesting about him. From the curvature of his face to the way you can spot ink under his sleeve where it’s bunched up around his hands. He’s just something else to Gerard, something that he’s never known before.

Gerard wanders what it would be like to kiss him. Frank looks like he’d be a good kisser, maybe it’s because he’s just got the most tantalizing mouth Gerard’s ever seen. And he’s got those hands, covered in tattoos, Gerard can’t see much of them but he wants nothing but to have those hands all over him, everywhere, tangled in his hair, warm against his skin, soft on his waist or firm on his shoulder. Anywhere at all really.

Gerard’s got an obsession with kissing, not in a bad way, he just can’t help but to imagine it whenever he meets someone he likes even a little bit. Kissing is the most important thing to him, aside from talking, because it’s more intimate than anything else. Fucking is great and fun and all, but it’s always got an underlying goal, whatever that goal may be. Kissing doesn’t have an ultimate goal, it’s just about the act itself. You’re not trying to get off or meet an end, it’s just about kissing. It’s simple, but it’s more important than anything. Because kissing is about closeness. Innocent, caring, loving closeness.

Looking at Frank, Gerard thinks he does have an idea or two about why it is that he needs to look at him in whatever way he is. Gerard wants to know what that closeness with Frank would be like. He wants to know what it’s like to be lost in the moment, forget all the worries of the world around him only for a second, just be dazed and awestruck because of _Frank_.

Gerard doesn’t believe that kisses really can give you fireworks, and honestly, he wouldn’t want them if they did. That’s not what it’s about, it shouldn’t be about fireworks, it shouldn’t be about an ultimate destination or achievement. A kiss shouldn’t give you fireworks, a kiss should give you a hearth on a rainy day, a bed on tired feet, a blanket in the cold.

“I’m starting to feel like you and I aren’t being as sarcastic as we had originally intended,” Gerard says.

“How so?”

“I’m not joking when I say that you’re gorgeous, and I’m not joking when I say that I feel something for you.”

“Well that’s good,” Frank nods, “because I’m not joking either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't think of anything to say here today so instead I'm just going to prompt you all to tell me the worst joke you know in the comments. Worst joke will be featured on the next authors note.


	4. Still Into You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinks and flowers.

Frank convinces Gerard to leave the warm intoxicating air of the tea store and he leads Gerard to what he would consider to be the most boring place on the planet. A garden. A flower garden.

Gerard doesn’t want to pretend that he can’t appreciate flowers because it’s not like he hates them or anything, he just thinks that they’re boring. Because they are. They don’t sing, or dance or anything. They just sort of wilt and make him sneeze and he doesn’t like that. He’s fond of ferns but that’s because ferns are easy to maintain and don’t have any pretense of excitement. 

“You can’t tell me that you don’t like flowers, what’s wrong with you?” Frank asks, when Gerard just sort of lags behind.

“I mean, I don’t dislike them or anything, I just don’t see the appeal,” Gerard says.

“But they’re pretty to look at,” Frank says.

It’s a small garden, only a few blocks down from the tea store and it’s not necessarily well maintained either, because some of them look like they’re on their last days, but for New York he supposes, it’s a big garden. There’s signs between almost every single different flower that say ‘DO NOT PICK FLOWERS’ which kind of ruins the aesthetic if you ask him. 

“I have a garden on my balcony,” Frank says, “I happen to like them.”

“There’s nothing wrong with liking them,” Gerard says. “I just don’t have any interest in them.”

“I think this is the first thing I’ve discovered that I don’t like about you. And the fact that you’re a cat person,” Frank says.

“Well that’s not fair then, I don’t dislike anything about you, tell me something that will make me on an even playing field.”

“I, uh,” Frank frowns, looking up as he tries to think, “I hate Superman?”

“Who doesn’t?” Gerard says.

“Okay, let me think of something else. I think The Ramones are overrated,” Frank says.

“You take that back!”

“Well I guess I succeeded in finding something you’d dislike about me.”

“I mean, The Ramones are iconic, you can’t dislike The Ramones. They were the _first_ punk band!”

“Yeah, and I respect them for that but they couldn’t play their instruments for shit,” Frank replies.

“Well neither could Sid Vicious but he’s practically synonymous with bassists.”

“No one is pretending that he was in the Pistols for his music playing ability. I’m just saying that The Ramones were a sort of gag band that set the ball rolling for better bands to come,” Frank says, “Like The Clash beat them in every field, and the Misfits could play circles around The Ramones.”

“I’m not saying The Ramones are the best band of all time, I’m saying that The Ramones were still good,” Gerard says.

“It’s a matter of opinion.”

“I can’t believe you like flowers but don’t like The Ramones,” Gerard says. “We’re going to have to get a divorce soon, I don’t know how I could even have considered this marriage a good idea.”

Frank shakes his head. They’re not married quite yet, though he’s genuinely hoping someday, but it’s been about an hour now and he feels like you need to know someone longer than an hour to get married. And a disagreement in a band doesn’t make for a divorce, it’s only when someone says that they don’t like pizza that you have to get an attorney on the phone. 

“What if I make up for it by saying that I really love your face?” Frank asks.

“Well, that gives you some credibility back.”

“Will you let me tell you about flowers now?” Frank asks, because this is the whole reason for why he’s here. He doesn’t just take beautiful men to flower gardens for the view, he’s a show off in his heart.

“Only if you use your teacher voice,” Gerard replies.

“You get kinkier and kinkier by the minute. And I fall more in love with you by the second.”

“You fall in love with me at a more rapid rate than I get kinkier. That is what we call exponential growth, sir.”

“Are you trying to be a teacher’s pet? Is that how deep this runs? If so, you should know that that’s not exponential growth, that’s just called addition.” 

“Oh man I hate it when people correct me but I’d let you do it all night long,” Gerard says, and there is a very very small part of him that is joking. It’s very small. Gerard is almost completely not joking about having a thing for his teacher voice. He was an awful student, truly awful, and there might be a good reason for that.

“So board games and teachers,” Frank says, “that’s your thing?”

“And hands,” Gerard adds and then questions whether he had meant to say that or not. He doesn’t think he did. He’s kind of regretting it now.

“Well fuck,” Frank says, “I feel so vanilla now.”

“Oh man I bet you’ve got something weird. You like feet or something, don’t you?” 

“No!” Frank says, pushing Gerard slightly. He tries to steer them off topic by pointing to a flower, and saying it’s a tulip. Gerard doesn’t know if he’s pulling his leg or not. Gerard doesn’t know the names or appearances of any flowers. He’s pretty sure he could safely pick a rose in a lineup, but after that he’s a toddler who lost his mom in a grocery store.

“Most tulips only live for about five or so days,” Frank says, and Gerard, being the pest that he is, has started pitching weird kinks at Frank to get a reaction.

“Clowns,” Gerard says, “you like clowns.”

“Oh,” Frank says pointing to a particular white and rather boring looking flower, “that’s a moonflower. They only open at night.”

“Bellybuttons,” Gerard says, and Frank rolls his eyes.

“That there is a calla lily. They’re one of my favorites. Most, if not all types of lilies, are poisonous to cats.”

“It’s skirts. You’ve got a thing for a dude in a dress,” Gerard says, and Gerard finally sees a reaction because Frank is blushing. He’s actually blushing, and looking down, and trying to find a flower, and flower at all, to have a weird fact about. 

Gerard likes the way Frank looks when he blushes. Some people go red all over, right to the tips of their ears. Frank’s not so red that he could be mistaken for a tomato from a huge distance, but he’s red enough that Gerard wants to do obscene things to him. That was already a given, but it’s multiplied by a lot now. Frank is just so damn cute, Gerard looks like Elmo when he blushes, Frank just looks more adorable.

“You have a thing for guys in dresses!” 

“I didn’t say that!” Frank says as Gerard giggles to himself.

“You as good as,” Gerard says, “oh I bet it’s not just dresses. It’s probably pantyhose too.”

Frank just looks away and pretends to get really focused on the sky. It’s dark out, but there are very few stars. They’re there, it’s not like the stars packed it up and moved to Canada, they haven’t gone anywhere, you just can’t see them in the city very well. There’s too many city lights, all that can be seen is the moon which is bright enough to not even need most of the street lamps, which practically outnumber the people in this city. The moon is either almost full or it was a full moon recently. It really sets the mood though, because even if Gerard doesn’t like flowers, he can’t deny that there’s nothing more romantic than being in a flower garden with the moon up like that. 

This is a Disney Channel first date, he imagines. This is what seven year olds think dating is like, minus the actual topic of conversation. There’s no underlying motivation to it besides just having a stroll through a garden and talking. It’s sweet, Gerard thinks, it makes him feel like he’s actually wanted rather than just an object.

“Oh my god, you are relentless,” Frank says, looking embarrassed but he’s smiling so Gerard doesn’t necessarily feel bad, because Frank’s not mad at him. If Frank were mad he’d stop, but he’s not so Gerard is going to tease the shit out of him. 

“Maybe even heals,” Gerard says, “and lipstick.”

“What did I do to deserve meeting you?” Frank asks.

“Win the lottery?” Gerard offers.

“Well, yeah, probably. I just wouldn’t have expected _this_ to be the ammunition you use to make fun of me.”

“Hey I never said I couldn’t dig it,” Gerard replies. Maybe he is far kinkier than he thought. Gerard’s up for a lot of things.

“What _don’t_ you have a thing for?” 

“Well, clowns, bellybuttons, and feet are big turn offs,” Gerard says. “I do love small men with tattoos, now there’s a fetish for you.”

“Oh my god, you’re awful,” Frank says.

“Yeah, but you love me,” Gerard says, and Frank doesn’t protest. Frank is genuinely getting closer to love with every word out of Gerard’s mouth. He doesn’t know why, he’s never been this cliché before, he’s never just liked someone this much after this short a time. Frank had a huge crush on Jeff Goldblum when he was a kid, but even then he had to watch like four different movies for that to really sink in, so he’s never had a crush on anyone that set in this deeply this quickly.

“Do you have a favorite flower?” Frank asks, trying to steer the topic off this subject. He would really love to buy Gerard flowers someday, try to prove him wrong on their merit. 

“Not really. I like sunflowers, I guess,” Gerard shrugs. Gerard is really fond of art, and he really only cares for sunflowers because he likes the way that Van Gogh painted them. He probably wouldn’t know a sunflower from a daisy if it weren’t for that. Still, there is something quaint about sunflowers, in a good way.

“Sunflowers are my favorite actually,” Frank responds.

“Really? Or are you just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear?” Gerard asks.

“No, I mean it. I like their simplicity. They’re not as traditionally elegant as other flowers, but they’re more beautiful to me.”

Frank kind of reminds Gerard of a sunflower. Frank’s bright and open, unique compared to others, and not as appreciated as he deserves. Gerard understands what he means about them not being as elegant, because in a way, they don’t have that fancy, picturesque sort of image. They’re a little offbeat, a little eccentric, and they’re beautiful. Gerard is starting to appreciate them more by the second, just thinking about the way Frank must see them. 

“Do you teach your kids about flowers?” Gerard asks.

“I do! I have them growing flowers actually. I’ve had them growing marigolds for a week or so now. They get really into it.”

“You must be the teacher that all the kids love, and kids who don’t have you wish they did,” Gerard says. “My teacher had us grow grass.”

“I am pretty awesome,” Frank says. “I’m the youngest teacher at my school by about ten years, and I think it shows. My coworkers aren’t necessarily bad people, or bad teachers, they just don’t really get it. They don’t understand kids the way that they deserve. I like to treat my kids as equals, even if they don’t know as much of the world as I do. I don’t want to make them hate school by teaching them all the same old things that I was taught and had no interest in when I was a kid. Like, they don’t deserve having to read hundred-year-old books that no one actually likes. I don’t make them read boring ass books, like who the fuck actually cares about Charles fucking Dickens?”

“Don’t insult my man Dr. Seuss though. That dude was chill as heck, I loved his stuff, still do. The Sneetches? That shit was real,” Gerard says, and he manages to draw Frank away from the garden at last, thought it seems like it took forever. He’s not sure where there is to go around here, there’s no real destination in Gerard’s mind, they’re not explicitly going north anymore, so it’s anyone’s guess where they’ll end up. 

“I love Dr. Seuss,” Frank says, “he was a genius, kids are never too old for him. But I refuse to read The Giving Tree in class, the last thing I need is to cry in front of a bunch of second graders.”

“That shit was _too_ real.”

“Most depressing book ever, I swear it,” Frank says, and Gerard cannot help but to picture Frank reading in front of a class, and it drives him absolutely _insane_. Even the image of it, just imagining what he must look like, what his voice sounds like as he reads to those kids. They have no idea how lucky they are to pay witness to Frank’s voice for that long. Gerard would gladly let Frank read him the entire Harry Potter series. He could fall into the warmth of Frank’s voice and he wouldn’t get tired of it. Hell, he’d let Frank read him the dictionary. 

The thought of it sends Gerard’s brain into a frenzy. He is crazy for a guy who’s good with kids. There’s almost nothing more attractive about a man then the way they are with kids, and the idea that Frank is a teacher? He just can’t be real; this man has checked off too many marks on the list of Gerard’s ideal guy. He’s basically just a wet dream come to life which Gerard is trying to pretend is impossible, but honestly Frank is just too perfect. He’s got to be a serial killer or something in his spare time because no one is this flawless. Then again, Frank doesn’t like The Ramones which is pretty much equivalent to being a serial killer.

It’s cold outside, but Gerard’s not particularly cold. He feels all warm and fuzzy and it’s Frank’s fault. Frank makes him feel like he just had a mug of hot chocolate. It’s not because of the cold when Gerard shivers, it’s because of Frank being so absolutely fucking cute that it tickles his goddamn spine. 

Almost instinctually, Frank pulls off his coat before Gerard can even say anything and puts it over Gerard’s shoulders. If Gerard had felt warm and fuzzy a moment before than the English language has not come up with a term for this. He’s practically bursting with adoration. 

Gerard turns to say thank you for the jacket and to be all sentimental about how sweet is, but that’s when his mouth drops.

“Fuck,” Gerard says, practically yells, loud enough for people streets over to hear him. 

“What?” Frank asks, looking concerned and confused.

“Your covered in tattoos, why didn’t you lead with that?” Gerard asks, stopping in his tracks, mesmerized with this tiny man. He’s wearing a stiff button up shirt, but the sleeves are rolled up past his elbows and Gerard’s gaze is hungry and ferocious.

“It’s not usually the best way to introduce myself to new people,” Frank says. “’Hi have you met me I have tattoos,’ it just doesn’t really work.”

“It would work on me,” Gerard replies, “you should lift up your shirt. No wait, that’s a weird thing to ask someone I barely know. Forget I said anything.”

Frank just grins and pulls it up a little bit as if to make Gerard drool at the mouth. And he’s damn close to it, Gerard is literally in awe of Frank. Gerard’s got half a mind to ravish him right in the middle of the street. 

“Fuck,” Gerard repeats, louder than the first time, which is to say that he could deafen a person at close range. Frank is barely spared. 

“Adding tattoos to that ever growing list,” Frank says, “I’m gonna have to kinkshame you soon the way these keep piling up.”

“But can you blame me?” Gerard asks, “can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t want to bang you?” 

“I mean, I don’t know?” Frank asks, “I’ve never really considered it?”

“Fucking hell, dude, you are gorgeous. There must be something seriously wrong with you for you to look like that and have such a great personality,” Gerard says. He pulls Franks coat around himself some more, because he’s cold and honestly Gerard is selfish, he doesn’t want to give it back. Gerard has a habit of stealing clothing from all of his boyfriends. Not in a twisted way, he doesn’t steal underwear, more in a way that if they have a warm sweatshirt, a cozy T-shirt, anything at all that he likes, Gerard will just wear it so much that it’s practically his anyway. 

Gerard doesn’t intend to steal Frank’s jacket, but he has every intention not to give it back until they’re in a place with furnace. Besides, he likes the way it smells. Frank’s coat smells like that cinnamon chewing gum that Gerard is afraid to try, and a warm woody smell, like from a campfire, only not as strong. 

“Well, I do sacrifice virgins to Satan every other week, so that’s probably it,” Frank says. 

“And the sad thing is that you’re so goddamn amazing that that’s not even a deal breaker.”

“Aww, well if you can accept that of me I suppose I can accept the fact that to you, I’m just a sugar daddy.”

“On a teacher’s salary?” Gerard asks. “I mean, I don’t even have a job and I make more money than you. I can pick up a penny on the sidewalk and have a larger net worth.”

Frank sighs, “fuck, I know it’s true and yet it pains me.”

“Well, for richer or for poorer, right?”

“I do,” Frank says, and Gerard doesn’t have to be the one to initiate the first hand hold, because Frank does. And Gerard is a little giddy about it. Gerard is a fourteen-year-old girl holding the hand of the only guy in her grade who doesn’t smell like axe under the lunch table for the first time. 

Gerard beams, not necessarily because Frank’s holding his hand, but because he managed to get him to hold his hand. He’s had enough of an effect on Frank that he feels like he can hold Gerard’s hand. Gerard’s so lost in the thought of it all, he can’t stand to think of anything but the sheer innocence of it. 

This is the most innocent, honest, real interaction he’s ever had with anyone. He’s talking about flowers and dreaming about hand holding for fucks sake. Sure they were talking about kinks a couple minutes ago, but it’s not about what they’re talking about, it’s the fact that they’re _talking_. The fact that he’s excited about holding Frank’s hand. It’s about the fact that this is the most PG interaction Gerard’s ever had with another human being. Truthfully, he kind of prefers it this way.

Gerard’s not a little kid, usually when he meets people for the first time and has a ‘connection’ it’s so that he can get into a dude’s pants. And that ‘connection’ lasts about fifteen minutes, or in some very unfortunate cases, five, and the ‘connection’ doesn’t leave him his phone number. Gerard’s not exactly amazing at actually achieving the whole one-night stand thing, he’s really rather bad if you factor in all the times he’s struck out, but it’s not really his scene anyway. It’s a once a year sort of deal. Nevertheless, any ‘connection’ he has with a stranger is simply for a goal of getting naked.

The fact of the matter is that Gerard doesn’t really just hang out with guys he doesn’t know at all for any reason, other than because he’s been dragged to a party and has to act like he wants to be there by socializing. So the fact that he has not even kissed Frank, and doesn’t even feel like he needs to yet, that’s a huge anomaly. That’s unheard of. The fact that he’s been able to talk to the same person for more than an hour now without getting bored, and in fact still being interested, this has probably never happened before, and it probably never will again.

So yeah, Gerard’s a little in awe at Frank holding his hand. He’s got a couple butterflies in his stomach. His mouth is starting to hurt from how much he’s smiling. He’s feeling a little floaty. He’s holding the hand of the guy who he really likes, and it’s as innocent as it gets. He’s not going to say that he doesn’t want to kiss Frank, and he’s not going to say that he doesn’t want to fuck Frank either, it’s just that he doesn’t feel like he _needs_ to yet. It doesn’t feel like an imminent goal. It’s something that can happen with time, and he wants it to happen eventually, it just doesn’t need to be so immediate. Because when it gets down to it, Gerard’s genuinely happy just to hold Frank’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there were some really astoundingly awful jokes last chapter, I almost feel like they were all too good to choose from but I'm going to choose the most relevant one (seeing as it tied back to the fic) which was: 
> 
> "Why did Gerard's tongue burn whenever he sipped his coffee in the hipster coffee shop? Because he drank it before it was cool." (Credit to glowingslowtown). 
> 
> As today is the most important holiday of the year, I hope you all have a happy Gerard Way's birthday!


	5. Whoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jumanji and first kisses.

“The real puzzle here is why the hell a clothing store is open at ten o’clock at night,” Gerard says, looking up at the glowing ‘open’ sign above the boutique. Usually stores close around nine, but clothing stores in this city usually close about ten minutes after they open. This is for a couple reasons, they just always close at about six because they know you don’t get off work until 6:01, and they don’t make enough money to keep themselves open so they’re usually replaced by a Little Caesars after a month or two.

“Are you sure the puzzle isn’t the fact that this place is called Forever 23?”

“You’re right, it’s a peculiar number, isn’t it? No one likes you when you’re 23.”

“I mean, I don’t know if I trust 23 year olds,” Frank says. “They’re fresh out of college, and think they own the world, but they haven’t moved out of their parent’s basement yet.”

“Um, excuse you, when I was 23, I lived on my friend’s couch, so clearly I was far inferior to the youth of today.”

“I lived in my friend’s garage,” Frank shrugs. “I paid rent, the raccoon who also lived there did not because he was an inconsiderate little shit.”

Gerard squints his eyes to see through the small window they have in front of the store. He wants to know why on earth the store would be open at this time of night, but there seems to be no indication. Gerard will give them some props on their utilization of the color pink, because they certainly did it successfully. It’s smack you in the face, Pepto pink, and it is everywhere. It’s basically Forever 21 on acid.

“Oh my god this is what it must be like inside Barbie’s sex fantasies,” Frank says, and Gerard snorts.

“Let’s go somewhere that is not here,” Gerard says.

“I’d literally take hell over Umbridge’s lair.”

“Bro, I’d take Voldemort over Umbridge. I’d take fucking Satan over Umbridge.”

“Well,” Frank says, giggling a little to himself, “We have established that I am Satan. You’d take fucking Satan, is that what you said?”

“No, like I meant I’d take freaking Satan, not _fucking_ Satan, or at least I meant it the other way.” 

“Sure you did,” Frank says.

“Oh my god,” Gerard groans, “I mean, I’m not gonna deny it if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh you,” Frank says, and he pulls Gerard over to the next store that they pass with lights on, which happens to be a barbershop. For all your ten at night haircutting needs. 

“Who gets their hair cut this late?” Frank asks.

“White people,” Gerard says.

“It just seems impractical,” Frank shrugs, “If I’m out on the town at this time of day, all I want is food and liquor. I don’t need anyone near my face with scissors. I bet they stay open this late because people come in so intoxicated that they think a rattail is a good idea.” 

“You’d have to be on something more than just alcohol to think a rattail is a good idea,” Gerard says. “You’d probably need to be unconscious.” 

Frank nods, “true.”

They come upon yet another store open way too late, and several bars and restaurants which totally should be open. They only walk by a couple of people, when you consider that this is New York, who are all either drunk off their tits or high as a bird. It’s actually quite nice, none of them are eager to get up in their business so Gerard doesn’t see any reason to be up in theirs.

Gerard doesn’t really have any issues with drunk people, or high people, it’s not really something that bothers him, he just let that life go when he started paying taxes. 

“Oh man, in college, I worked at a Dominos, and I swear, every fucking night, sometimes twice a night, I’d get a call from someone who was under the influence of something, and there is nothing harder than telling a high kid that you don’t sell blueberry muffins.”

“Was it consistently blueberry muffins they asked for, or…?”

“No, there was a large variety. Some wanted normal things like cake, potato chips, McDonalds, and then you had some who were higher than others who wanted like fucking baba ghanoush, or an onion blossom. Like, I get you’ve got the munchies, but who the fuck has a craving that particular? And why the fuck are you asking me for it, like where the hell do you buy baba fucking ghanoush?”

“What is baba ghanoush?”

“Hell if I know, I think it’s got eggplants in it.”

Gerard can’t take eggplants seriously anymore, and it’s because his last boyfriend, the one who he dated for three years which was by all means three years too long, loved to use emoji’s. Specifically, he loved the eggplant emoji. Gerard doesn’t know why he let that relationship endure for so long, it might be because he was the only person Gerard’s ever known who owned a juicer, and Gerard just really likes juice. 

Gerard’s phone buzzes, and he uncomfortably pulls his phone out while Frank looks at him. Gerard hates texting, and everyone he knows is aware of that, so usually people text him with grocery lists, or if someone is literally about to die. Gerard just has big thumbs and he can never muster up the energy to have a conversation with someone through text. And he doesn’t want to risk ever having to see that fucking eggplant emoji ever again.

When Gerard looks at his phone, he’s got one message from Hayley saying, “r u dead?”

Gerard texts back a simple “no” and tries to put his phone away quickly, because another reason why he doesn’t like texting is that it restricts him socializing with people face to face, but Hayley’s got some nimble fucking fingers because only a few seconds later it buzzes again.

“good. wat r u doin?”

“getting married,” Gerard texts back. 

“hes that rich?”

“that perfect.”

Frank looks at him quizzically, and Gerard responds, “my friend is just making sure you haven’t murdered me. I told her we’re getting married.”

“Oh alright,” Frank says, “well it’s a good thing you told her that I didn’t, because I do plan to kill you, just not yet. Call me a hopeless romantic but I like making people fall in love with me before killing them.”

“Sounds fair,” Gerard replies. “Do I get to pick how I want to die, or is that up to you? Do you have a really specific Criminal Minds type MO?”

“I mean, not really,” Frank says, “I didn’t think about it too extravagantly. I was just thinking that I’d stab you or something, whatever becomes the most opportune weapon at the time of said murder.”

Gerard nods, “well I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything more. You don’t leave a bar with a guy unless you fully accept the possibility that you’re going to get murdered.”

“But like, we can still get married though,” Frank says, “because, everyone’s got their own favorite cop show, and in every single one of them, the husband or wife always did it. Unless there’s a butler, then he did it.”

“But according to Scooby Doo logic it’s always the one guy who laughs menacingly, and that’s usually the only person you’re actually introduced to in the entire episode.”

“To be fair though, they only had a two to three-dollar budget for each episode.”

“Hey, if you factor in inflation, they’ve got more money than that,” Gerard says.

“Yeah, so about eight bucks per episode. It’s a wonder Scooby Doo is a national treasure,” Frank responds.

“Hey, dude you better not have just fucking insulted Scooby Doo, because I will cut you,” Gerard warns.

“No, I adore it,” Frank says, and Gerard glares at him, “honestly, I do. It’s not the best animation ever, but it’s simplicity and shit artwork or half of what makes it so endearing.”

“The bad artwork and small budget are literally the best part about the show. It’s the bee’s knees, and the more years that pass, the poorer it ages but the better it gets,” Gerard says, “and honestly, you know I want to be an animator but I still think Scooby Doo is the bomb.”

“I do genuinely like it,” Frank says. “Maybe not as much as you, but I don’t _dislike_ it and that’s what counts.”

“Alright, because for a second there we had a problem.”

“You really like it a lot though?” Frank asks, “I mean, I would assume that you, given your field of choice, would hate it. Like, Scooby Doo is really poorly drawn, and I get that it’s because of how old it is, but it’s seriously bad.”

“It’s probably a nostalgia thing. Mikey and I, we were raised on Scooby Doo, I remember only having two VHS tapes of the show, only two, so I watched those episodes more times than you could imagine, but they never got old. There were only like four episodes on each, I could probably name all of them, and honestly, sometimes I never feel more comfortable than when I rewatch those same eight episodes. It feels like everything is going to be okay, and I know they’re stupid, and I know they’re not that good, but they’re _right_. They’re just cozy, and warm, and I can’t honestly tell you what they mean to me. God, I’m annoying and sappy, but I don’t know how to say it, I was practically raised on that shit, Scooby Doo is like my third parent. My weird, hungry and cowardly parent, but my parent all the same.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I am going to sit you down for A Scooby Doo marathon the second I get the chance,” Frank says. This feels like the biggest insight he’s learned about Gerard yet. The things that people feel nostalgic over, and the things that make them feel comfortable are the most intimate details about them. When someone tells you something that they would never think to tell you, but defines them just as much as the things they wear on their sleeve are so important. It’s like a dissection of that person’s soul, because it’s personal, but not personal like it’s some big secret. It’s not something that’s hidden, it’s just something you would never think to say about yourself.

“We didn’t have a lot of money growing up,” Gerard says, “so we never had too many movies. Those were just some of the ones we did have. Later on, we got Star Wars and I sort of forgot about Scooby for a while, because when you’re eight, Star Wars is all that matters, but it’s just sort of a part of me. It’s kind of like, saying that I like Scooby Doo, it’s like saying that I have feet. It’s just something that’s so true about me it’s stupid to say.”

Frank owes Gerard a similar story, so he starts before Gerard has the chance to regret having said anything, “As a kid, I really really loved Jumanji. I saw it when I was like six or seven when it was first in the theater, and I just thought it was… I thought it was the best movie that had ever been made. I went to see it five times, and I begged my mom for it when it came out, and I watched it so many times that the tape came out, and I had to get a new one. And, like, I remember when my parents split, and that really tears you apart, I watched it a shit ton that year. And I was like, always fucking sick as a kid, with this or that, my mom used to joke that if there was a virus in the state, it would find me. My mom bought me the book that Jumanji was based on when I was particularly ill, and it was like watching the movie anew again, and I worshiped it. I’ve honestly seen the movie more times than I could count, because it kind of, it’s just a movie that structured my life. Not that I really did anything inspired by the movie, nothing like that, it was just that it was always there, ya know? Like, if life sucked, it was there.”

Frank looks down, thinking, feeling a little pink, because it’s a stupid thing to admit. He feels like a little kid saying it.

“I’ve honestly never been more attracted to you,” Gerard says, looking at Frank, and he’s not kidding. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more attracted to anyone ever before.

There’s something intensely romantic about nostalgia. It’s something that Gerard wishes he shared with more people, but Gerard doesn’t really know that many people, and he knows fewer people who have been in his life long enough for that to build up. But sharing his own nostalgia with Frank, and getting it equally in return, almost feels like a shared memory. He can almost see little Frank, probably with a stupid bowl-like haircut, watching Jumanji and being careless to the world around him. Maybe he reenacted the movie with animal crackers. The thought of it sends Gerard into a gleeful state, one where his mouth hurts from the grin that feels permanently glued to his face.

Gerard has to look away for a second, because for a moment, it’s too intense. It’s Frank looking at him, and Gerard looking back, and it’s like stars colliding. It’s like years of waiting for something Gerard didn’t know he was waiting for, and this is that something. It’s like a magnetic pushing away from another magnet, the force between them being just too strong.

The sky is dark, smothering all light before it can pierce the pristine indigo. The two of them are standing directly beneath a streetlamp, a bright beacon without even the slightest of flickering. 

Gerard feels hyperactive, like everything is happening all around him and he can sense all of it. He can sense the breeze, which is pleasant but doesn’t ruin your hair. He can hear the sound of people talking not too far away and cars driving on the street adjacent to this, but the sound doesn’t seem so close. He can feel the way his shoes dig into his feet which are faintly uncomfortable and strained from standing for so long, but not enough so that he needs to sit. Gerard doesn’t know what’s exactly going on between the two of them, it just feels like an understanding. It’s an understanding that this is something _more_. 

“My brother and I couldn’t cook for shit,” Gerard says, almost in a whisper, “so when we were home alone, I’d make us both nachos, you know the ones you make as a kid, just Doritos covered in a shit ton of cheese? And it wasn’t very good, but that was all I could make. And we would watch Scooby Doo. And I just, I have this really strong memory of watching the episode with the Creeper, it was always my favorite, Scooby adopts a fucking duck and they’re being chased by this Quasimodo wannabe, and I was eating this shitty ass food I’d made myself while Mikey was just, he was just my little brother with a coloring book that he refused to color inside the lines of. It’s not exciting, but it’s just a strong memory I have.”

Frank bites his lip, eyes darting between Gerard’s eyes and his mouth and he says, “When I was really sick, I used to have to stay in hospitals overnight, and they scared the everloving shit out of me, because, hospitals are terrifying. But my mom would stay with me the whole night, in these horribly uncomfortable chairs and she would just hold my hand and read me Jumanji. I would just fall asleep to her voice.”

Frank thinks that Gerard’s eyes look an awful lot like his mother’s. Wide, and exceedingly innocent. They’re a warm brown, and give the impression that you’re always there when people need you. Gerard’s got those same eyes, the ones that Frank wishes he’d inherited. But on Gerard, they’re hypnotic. Like his eyes sing a Siren’s song. 

Gerard isn’t really _aware_ of it when it happens. He’s not really sure what he’s doing, what he’s thinking, what Frank is thinking or doing, he just knows that he’s here, and he’s alive, and that’s the most he can think.

He’s just sort of smiling at Frank and then he’s just sort of softly pressing his lips to Frank’s. It’s not really his goal, and honestly, Gerard couldn’t tell you who initiated it. It doesn’t feel like either of them did. He just knows that he’s kissing Frank, the softest kiss ever shared by any two people not in their teens, and it’s just that. It’s just sort of a kiss.

And Gerard wouldn’t say his hands scrabble, he wouldn’t say it’s anything more than an intuition when his hand finds Frank’s and they close around each other. It just feels natural.

It’s a hesitant, uncertain kiss at first, like neither is really sure what it is they’re doing. Then it starts to feel like something else. It’s like when you take a sip of water before realizing how thirsty you actually are. Now it feels like you just need more water, more and more, to satiate what you need. That’s what the kiss feels like.

It feels like nothing that Gerard could ever have guessed could be felt by anyone. Like some secret that no person should ever be worthy to know. And it’s like Gerard hasn’t kissed anyone before. Like he doesn’t know what it’s like for his heart rate to increase tenfold, and at the same time stop completely. It feels like he doesn’t know what this churning in his stomach is, the one that makes him feel as if he’s on fire, but in a good way.

It’s not like any kiss Gerard’s ever had, least of all not any first kiss. Those all felt like they were trying to accomplish a goal. Like, ‘hey we’ve sort of been dating for a little while, we should kiss to get that out of the way.’ Or ‘I’m really sexually attracted to you and want to get into your pants, but I’m a reasonable man, I’m willing to negotiate a few rushed kisses so it seems like we’ve got some sort of ulterior motive besides just fucking.’ Or even ‘I spun the fucking bottle, I’ll kiss this loser but only because I’m a chicken if I don’t.’

This is not like any of those. This is something else entirely. This is uncharted waters.

This is a fairytale kiss. This is a princess being rescued by her prince kiss. It’s a pivotal scene in a rom com meant to illustrate that the playful tension between two characters is actually love kiss. This is not something that two people who have only just met have. This is ten years of pent up emotion and love coming to a boiling point and bringing two idiots in love together at last.

This is the kind of kiss that poets right about, and it’s the kind of electricity that people who have never been in love claim could only dream about. It’s the kind of kiss that even people _are_ in love could only dream about.

It’s a love song kiss, and a diary kiss, and a daydream kiss, and a movie kiss, and a _finally_ kiss.

Gerard can feel everything. He can feel each individual hair on his own head, he can feel the temperature of the air on his skin, the feel of every single wrinkle in his clothing, and of every coin in his pocket against his thigh. 

Frank sees everything that Gerard feels and more. Frank can see himself curled up on Gerard’s lap watching Chopped, he can see himself being convinced into buying Oreos by Gerard in a supermarket, he can see himself arguing over paint colors for a room in their house, he can see them making stir fry and throwing zucchini at each other, he can see them picking out baby clothes, he can see them crying over their kid leaving for college, and he can see himself falling asleep with Gerard’s head nudged up against his shoulder.

It’s just one kiss. Just one first kiss among thousands of other first kisses that thousands of other people have had. It’s just one moment between two people with millions of other people having millions of other moments around them.

And in just one kiss, Gerard is pretty sure he’s head over heels in love with this man.

It’s an eternity and a second when they finally break apart, barely even separating. There’s less than an inch between them, Frank’s breath on Gerard’s face, light and soft, and his hand still tangled with Gerard’s.

“Whoa,” Frank says, breathless and incredulous.

“Yeah,” Gerard says, matching Frank’s inflection to the tee. 

“That was… it was,” Frank says, stumbling on his words, probably for the first time since Gerard’s known him.

“New,” Gerard finishes for him. 

Frank is thinking of a million different things to say in response. Like ‘we should do that again’ or ‘I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you’ or ‘that was totally wicked’ or ‘fucking hell’ or any other number of things, but what he manages to get out is just a small sound like “mmhaujmmh” which is not quite as eloquent as he would have liked.

Gerard just nods like he knows, and he leans in again, and Frank’s weak at the knees before their lips even touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to sound annoyingly sappy, but losing Prince has completely devastated me, especially since I live ten minutes away from his home, so this chapter was really hard for me to finish, and I hope it doesn't reflect that. Thank you for reading, I hope you're all well, and please leave a comment because it really does mean a lot.


	6. Turn It Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorks who can’t undo buttons.

Gerard’s head slams against the bathroom door, and honestly if he were in any other situation he would be grossed out of his wits. Gerard wouldn’t exactly consider himself neat, in fact most people would consider him to be a slob, because Gerard, in his entire life, has never touched a broom for any reason other than to pretend he was a witch. No, Gerard is not tidy, but it should never be said that he isn’t clean. Actually, that’s not true either. Gerard really doesn’t shower enough. He’s really rather greasy.

So maybe Gerard isn’t tidy, and maybe he’s not clean either, but even Gerard is a little repulsed by the doors of unwashed men’s bathrooms.

Except on this particular occasion, as he acquaints himself with a door, he’s got Frank’s mouth fucking _everywhere_ and he feels like this is an exception to his usual reaction to public restroom doors and that act of being shoved into them. 

“Jesus,” Gerard whispers to himself, because honestly there’s nothing like the feeling of Frank’s mouth on the spot right below his ear, he feels like he’s going to explode into a million pieces or melt or do something else that would entail him no longer existing in one solid form. He never knew the spot under his ear had that effect on him. 

Frank sort of sneers, but not sneers in an evil way because no one but actors from Soap Operas and Morgana from BBC’s Merlin actually sneers, more like the kind of sneer a porn star would make when trying to look both alluring and slightly crazy. You know, like if you were a lemon stealing whore.

But oh does Gerard eat it up because his brain is not in control right now, which is a statement that can be said most hours of the day in Gerard’s case. Usually it’s either his stomach, his heart in a Pablo Neruda kind of way, or his dick. Right now, or as his brother would say, as per usual, it’s his dick. It’s also Frank’s dick, which is weird because Gerard’s entire body is practically being controlled by some other guy’s dick. Now to be fair, it is the guy whose dick he’s totally about to suck, but it’s still weird. 

“Ngyng,” is what Frank is capable of saying, because while Frank would consider himself to be a sex god, modestly, he’s not actually good at verbalizing anything in this sort of situation, which can make things extremely difficult. Because he really wishes he could tell Gerard how drop dead gorgeous he is right now, but he’d just end up mumbling and it wouldn’t be sexy, it would be weird.

Frank wishes he could tell Gerard that everything about him is intoxicating right now. He’s drunk just thinking about the man, to look at him staggers his breath and twists his stomach. Gerard’s eyelashes are perfect at this angle. His cheekbones have never been more prominent. His jaw and the line that connects it to his neck, is beckoning Frank in, it’s clean shaven with either freakish accuracy or because there wasn’t much there to begin with. 

“Fuck,” Gerard groans when Frank gets a knee between Gerard’s legs in _exactly_ the right spot. Gerard’s head rolls back, and he’s just so happy to be here right now. He’s never wanted to be where he is as much as he does right now. 

Frank’s mouth is sinful, he almost feels guilty for being the only person whose kissing it. He feels that he doesn’t deserve it. Gerard’s not a very good kisser, he’s never pretended to be. He would say that he ranks in the bottom percent of kissers in this world, but with Frank he feels like a perfect ten. Maybe it’s his enthusiasm, Frank could practically jump off the walls from pure energy, and maybe that’s why Gerard doesn’t feel bad in comparison. Maybe Frank’s lips are just perfect against his. 

There’s just something about the way he and Frank fit together. Frank feels like a puzzle piece that’s worn from being in the wrong places, but he’s finally found a place where he fits. He fits into Gerard. The way their hands mold together, the way their lips touch, even the way that Frank’s head fits on his shoulder, it’s almost too perfect. It’s _almost_ too perfect, but in Gerard’s eyes, it’s just perfect enough. 

Frank’s got his hands on Gerard’s shoulders, almost on his neck, and they’re so warm, and strong. It feels like he could lift a bus up with one hand, it feels like his strength is infinite, those hands can do anything. His hands are so strong, but gentle on Gerard, like he knows his own strength and chooses not to use it. 

Gerard doubts anyone he’s ever dated has ever narrowed in on anything about him so specific as his hands. Gerard always focuses on the little things that make up a whole. He loves Frank’s hands in particular, because their unlike anyone else’s. Frank’s a whole world just waiting to be discovered. There’s a whole world behind those eyes that Gerard can’t ever know enough about.

Gerard isn’t sure where his own hands are. He’s not positive he’s _got_ hands. He’s not sure which limbs he does and not possess. All he knows he has is a dick and mouth and some tingling sensations like a limb that’s fallen asleep. The rest might as well not exist. 

But then one of Frank’s hands traces down his arm, and he can feel his arm again, like it’s magically reappeared. Frank’s hand then finds his chest and Gerard can swear he didn’t have one a moment ago. The only parts of him he’s aware of are the parts that Frank touches. 

Suddenly, Gerard remembers that those hands are the same ones that had been covered in tattoos. They’re the same ones attached to this entire museum of a man covered in all the artwork Gerard could ever dream to create. It becomes clear in that moment that Frank is not nearly naked enough.

“You should take this off,” Gerard says, tugging on Frank’s collar, and Frank is more than happy to oblige. He pulls his cuffs loose, and Gerard gets started on his buttons. Frank thinks that it’s only fair and tries to get Gerard’s jeans undone when he finds himself in a bit of a kerfuffle.

Gerard tries to undo Frank’s shirt, but someone must have literally sewn the man into the shirt because Gerard absolutely cannot get the first button undone. He tries to just rip it off because Frank’s got a nice body, Gerard feels like he wouldn’t mind showing it off later when his shirt is torn to shreds, but even that doesn’t seem to work. The shirt may very well be glued to Frank.

“Having trouble there?” Frank asks. Gerard hasn’t let up, and Frank’s taken a moment to make fun of Gerard so that Gerard can’t make fun of him.

“The fuck is this shirt made out of?” 

“One hundred percent cotton baby,” Frank says, and Gerard snorts at that because of its sheer stupidity.

“Yeah, there you go with the dirty talk,” Gerard says, “what laundry detergent do you use, you sexy beast?” 

“Fucking east German laundry detergent, because I’m a man,” Frank says, before laughing at himself until his head falls down onto Gerard’s shoulder.

“That is so hot,” Gerard says, laughing way more than he should, because it’s not funny, and he knows it’s not but for some reason it is. It’s the kind of laugh you have when you’re drunk or when you’re so tired that everything around you becomes hysterical. Neither of those are true now, it just feels like that kind of laugh. Maybe Gerard’s as intoxicated by Frank as Frank is by him. 

For some unknown reason, everything about this entire situation is funny and he doesn’t know why, but Frank’s still laughing against his shoulder like it’s the funniest thing in the whole world. Frank’s laugh fuels Gerard’s, because the way it sounds, even echoed off these dirty walls is one that makes his heart swell.

“I can’t get your fucking pants off,” Frank admits which only makes it funnier. Honestly Gerard’s never laughed at a dilemma that only a four-year-old could find themselves in. No one above that age has difficulty undoing a button. 

The sound of Frank laughing is one of the best sounds that there is to be heard. Likewise, Frank thinks that Gerard’s laughter provides enough energy to power New York City for a year, maybe two. 

“What the fuck are we doing?” Frank asks Gerard when he can finally find the space to breathe. Because suddenly, this doesn’t feel sexy or clandestine or any of the things that it was a moment ago. It’s awkward and it’s kind of smelly and it’s really pretty gross because this is a men’s bathroom, and it’s hilarious. 

“We’re being stupid,” Gerard says.

“Incredibly stupid,” Frank replies, smiling, almost beaming at Gerard. Somehow the situation is actually better than it had been a moment ago, because he’s here with Frank and the simplicity in just being with Frank makes it better than being horizontal with Frank. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be horizontal with Frank, but right now it’s just idiotic. That’s not what this is about. 

Gerard doesn’t know what he must have been thinking a minute ago, it seems so foreign and long ago to him now. Right now, sex, or honestly anything besides kissing the shit out of Frank is just not appealing anymore, and he can’t remember when it ever was. Laughing with Frank, talking to him, telling him stories, sharing memories, and using bad pickup lines is worth every cent that screwing him in a public bathroom lacks. 

There’s got to be nothing in the entire world that is less romantic than an uncleaned men’s bathroom in New York City. A literal actual cave is sexier. His childhood bedroom which still has his Star Wars sheets is more romantic than this. This just isn’t the kind of place that Gerard and Frank should be right now, not when things are going _well_. 

“This isn’t right,” Frank says, and he looks a little nervous about his words, nervous that Gerard’s not going to want to hear them. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re beautiful, and I’m honestly crazy about you, but this isn’t right. We may have just met but I feel like I know you pretty well, and people who know each other like that don’t fuck in a bathroom. That’s just not right.” 

Gerard understands what he means. People who fuck in public bathrooms are people who met in clubs or at bars, they’re not people who want to know each other for longer than an hour. They’re just people who need a semi-private place to get off. Frank’s right, this is wrong. This isn’t how this should happen.

“I’m not offended,” Gerard says, “you’re completely right.”

Frank looks overwhelmingly relieved when he says that. Frank’s heart would have shattered if Gerard had made it out like Frank owed him something. 

Gerard’s hair is a mess, he knows he looks like a long lost brother of Jedward, and his clothes are all askew. The lighting in here is awful, it’s both sterile and dirty like he’s in a surgical room that also doubles as a land pile. Everything about him feels like he’s far worse than par, and yet Frank is standing there glowing with a heart that shines out through his eyes. Frank would probably look perfect even when he wakes up. He probably comes out of the shower with perfect hair. He probably cracks mirrors when he smiles at them from the sheer beauty in his smile.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Frank whispers to him, and Gerard doesn’t believe him for a second, but he appreciates it. He appreciates the fact that Frank could cure cancer with his smile and stop world hunger with his eyes, and with that beauty he can still find it in him to say that Gerard’s gorgeous. He may be completely wrong, but the sentiment is still there.

Gerard leans down, like actually leans down to kiss Frank because he’s an elf, and it’s perfectly innocent compared to the kisses they’d been sharing less than five minutes ago. It’s not that the other kisses were bad, it’s just that this kiss is so good that it makes other kisses feel bad about themselves. When he kisses Frank, Gerard feels as if this is why kissing was invented. So that he could find Frank, and so that Frank could find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm such a tease, hope you liked the chapter. I know very few of you are going to comment but please know that it means a lot and I appreciate every single one.


	7. I Caught Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic and ice cream.

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Gerard says, “you actually _like_ sports?”

“Not in like a wooooo sports kind of way,” Frank replies, “in like a, I sort of care that my team wins sort of way. Like in a, I’d be bummed if The Devils lost a game but I wouldn’t sit through four hours of it every other day sort of way.”

“Okay, but I can’t even tell you what sport that is,” Gerard says. “My sports vocabulary is limited to like, the Yankees who play one of those sports with the running around in circles a lot, and like the Gryffindor Quidditch team.”

“I’m not super invested. I don’t have a jersey collection or anything,” Frank says. 

“Yeah, but you can name a team, I’m not entirely sure what sport LeBron James plays. I can however tell you that Fred and George were the beaters, Harry was the seeker, Oliver Wood was the keeper, and a bunch of badass ladies, Katie, Angelina, and Alicia, were the chasers.”

“Wow so you weren’t kidding,” Frank says.

“I don’t kid when it comes to Harry Potter.”

“That’s so hot.”

“My interests are limited to fictional characters, and punk bands. Occasionally I’ll get obsessed with magic tricks, but that has only happened like seven times.”

“What do you mean by magic tricks?” Frank asks, suddenly very curious as to what’s going on in that beautiful bastard’s head. He’s now wondering how on earth a person who looks like that, a beautiful, gorgeous, statuesque jaw dropper of a man, could possibly be into card tricks. Like, Gerard is the kind of guy who walks into a straight bar and turns all the men in there gay. People with that sort of ability do not pull rabbits out of hats.

“Like, I really love magic tricks,” Gerard says. “In a nonironic way. I’ve seen Penn and Teller five times.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Frank says. How did he fall for a magician, he’s going to get Gerard’s pants off someday and he’s going to ask Frank if this is his card.

“You don’t know who Penn and Teller are?” Gerard asks, looking like Frank just said something blasphemous.

“You don’t know who LeBron James is,” Frank counter backs. 

“Touché,” Gerard nods. “But I love magic, and I don’t know why. It might be because I love Harry Potter, and magic is cool. Watching someone do something impossible is one of the greatest feelings in the world.”

Suddenly, Frank loves magic though, because Gerard loves magic, and if this man can love something as stupid as magic, well then Frank would love to be his slutty assistant.

“I’ve never been into magic,” Frank shrugs, “I don’t like the fact that everything is fake, nothing magical is actually happening, it’s just a trick.”

“Well it depends on your point of view, but I think that it’s cool because it’s real, and not special effects.”

“Yeah, but it’s not _real_ magic. It’s not really happening,” Frank says.

“I disagree. ‘Real magic’ is what we call the magic that can’t be done, the stuff in Harry Potter is ‘real magic’ even though it’s impossible, and yet the magic that can be done, tricks, illusions, and all things involved with trickery, that’s what we call ‘fake magic.’ Why do we call the impossible one real when it’s not, and the possible one fake when the opposite is true?”

“You’re such a fucking dork,” Frank says, “I love that.” 

“You’re just pandering,” Gerard says, and scoffs overdramatically until Frank punches him in the arm. A little harder than was maybe necessary, but it’s alright. Gerard would love for Frank to give him a couple more bruises around his neck area. Maybe his thighs too. Gerard really does have a lot of kinks up his sleeve. And flowers, handkerchiefs, and maybe a bunny or two.

“If you like it, maybe magic isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Frank says, and Gerard feels a little miffed at Frank saying that. Not in a bad way, he just didn’t expect it. Does Frank actually like him enough to not make fun of him for something so desperately asking to be made fun of?

“What?” Gerard asks.

“I’ll get in your box any day,” Frank says, and Gerard understands now. He just wanted to make bad magic jokes.

“Well I’ll stab you with my sword any time you want,” Gerard replies.

“I’ll show you a real magic wand,” Frank says.

“You should see my bedroom sometime, that’s where the magic really happens.”

“You’re going to take me to a magic show one of these days,” Frank says, “and I mean a real one, not the magic show you probably call your underwear.”

“I’d say the same about sports but I’d really rather be shot in the foot than watch a football game.”

“You wouldn’t even go to a hockey game for me?” Frank asks, “not even if I bought you mini donuts?”

“Next time, lead with the mini donuts,” Gerard says, “I’ll go anywhere if mini donuts are on the table.”

“Shut the fuck up right now or I’ll be forced to marry you,” Frank says, and Gerard grins with such innocence that it makes his heart claw at him with need. He’s never felt like he needed anyone before as much as he feels with Gerard. He’s pretty sure he’s never felt like he needed anyone before. It’s never a feeling he’s had with such desperation. 

“You are so easy,” Gerard says.

“You could literally tell me to a murder a guy right now and I’d beg to bury the body,” Frank says.

“Oh well that really makes it convenient that I’ve got a huge wish list of murders I’ve been wanting committed.” 

“I’m on it man, you say the word, I’m there. Call me, beep me, whenever you need me, baby.”

“You’re adorable,” Gerard says, and pauses because Frank’s got a hand on his upper arm, pulling him down, and Gerard can tell he’s begging for Gerard to kiss him, and Gerard just isn’t equipped with the indecency to say no.

They’ve arrived back in a busier part of town, a part that’s got three bars all within relatively close proximity to each other. They’re so far from Gerard’s apartment that he’s not sure where exactly he even is right now. That’s okay though. At least he’s lost with Frank.

The point is that Frank kissing him right now isn’t exactly as private as it had been ten minutes ago. Gerard’s not one for public displays of affection. He doesn’t want to see other people making out while he’s buying Sun Chips so why does everyone feel the need to show off? They’re always dating someone who looks slightly like a member of a boy band but in a bad way, and it’s usually just gross and sloppy.

Until now, he’d never had the urge to actually kiss someone in public though. It’s never been such a full pledged _need_ before, but right now, it’s like he needs Frank’s kiss to breathe, he’ll suffocate without it. It’s just weird, it’s never happened to him before and he feels as though his skin is on fire. 

He’s having trouble picturing the idea that this might not be as genuine as his heart is making it out to be. He can’t comprehend the idea that this might not be real. Gerard honestly cannot fathom the idea that this isn’t love. Because it just is. This is love. This is supposed to be some passion filled adrenaline rush that he’ll realize any moment now is an over exaggeration of something more pathetic, but that’s not what it is. He can’t say why he knows it he just knows that he does. 

Gerard pulls away from the kiss, not because he doesn’t want it to go on, but because he smiles so widely that it ruins the kiss. It doesn’t feel like he could ever have a smile as honest and unabashedly innocent as this one. 

He loves this motherfucker. Like, he actually loves this stupid fucking elf with tattoos and a goddamn teacher voice that makes his skin tingle. He actually feels actual love for this guy who he’s known now for three hours. It’s nearly midnight and he just got fired, he’s got no clue where his life is going at this point and no clue how he came to be standing where he is right now with this fucking perfect human being, and he loves every second of it. And he loves every tiny piece of this tiny man, and he doesn’t know why. 

“This is one of the best goddamn nights of my life,” Frank says excitedly.

“How boring is my life that I say it’s one of the best nights of my life too?” Gerard asks. 

“No more boring than mine, I guess,” Frank replies. 

“I just love…” Gerard considers for a moment, before backing out before it’s too late to take his words back, “this. I love everything about this.”

Frank maybe got his hopes up a little bit. He’d kind of been hoping Gerard was going to say he loved him. Maybe Gerard would have the courage to say the thing Frank’s been thinking for the past hour. He’s not sure he’s going to be able to say it, because Frank doesn’t want to be _that_ guy. Not that he’d consider Gerard to be that guy if he said it, but Frank just doesn’t know for sure if Gerard feels the same for him as he does for Gerard, and he doesn’t want to risk it. 

It’s stupid really. He doesn’t even really know this guy. He doesn’t know anything about Gerard when it comes down to it, but he feels as though he knows everything that he needs to in order for him to be sure he’s in love. Because he is. There’s no doubt about it. He is in love. True, painful, gushy, slightly naïve, love.

Frank has been burned by things like this before, though. He told his old roommate he loved him, and the guy moved out three weeks later. Frank told his college fling he loved him and he broke up with him on the spot, then laughed about it behind Frank’s back. Frank told Sally down the street he loved her when they were seven and she threw an ice cream cone at his face. He just doesn’t have a good track record with saying the words ‘I love you.’

Gerard on the other hand is very good at making people fall in love with him, though he’s incapable of realizing it. In all honesty, most people love Gerard, even if it’s just platonically. Usually it ends up being Gerard who ends things because he’s never had a spark with anyone before except for that Greek guy in senior year, and that was probably not because of an emotional connection, the dude just had a voice like caramel, and an enormous… well, he was just really boring when he thinks back on him.

Gerard will figure it out one of these days that he’s irresistible, but until then he will complain to his heart’s content like the middle class kid he was raised.

“You’re going to physically injure yourself if you keep on smiling,” Frank says, but even saying it, he can’t stop his own smile.

“Then stop kissing me,” Gerard says, not as an actual thing he would want Frank to stop doing, that would just be the most efficient way to get him to stop smiling.

“No,” Frank responds, and he kisses Gerard again just to prove it. Gerard makes a crooning sound when Frank’s hand finds its way through his hair, because this is just perfect, and it’s infuriating that it can’t go on forever.

Frank pulls away at least a minute later, probably more than that, though Gerard couldn’t give you an estimate. It doesn’t feel like it went on for long enough, however he does realize that he needs to catch a breath. There are strangers watching him, he can feel their eyes. But he doesn’t give a flying fuck. 

“So what do you want to do?” Frank asks. “I mean, it’s only midnight, we’ve got a whole town to paint red, and we’ve only done a fraction of it.”

“That’s a peculiar phrase, isn’t it? ‘Paint the town red.’ Why not blue?”

“We can paint it whatever color you want,” Frank says.

“I’m quite fond of orange at the moment,” Gerard says, because he is quite fond of orange.

“Why orange?” Frank asks.

“I’ve been working on a couple of sketches that just happen to have a lot of orange in them so far,” Gerard shrugs.

“Oh my god, you’re an artist?” Frank asks, looking ecstatic.

“Well yeah, I thought we covered that with the whole animation thing.”

“No, you said you wanted to do animation, you never specified that you wanted to do the art!” Frank says. He’d just assumed that Gerard had an odd fascination with Disney.

“Oh,” Gerard says, “well it’s a little belated, but I want to draw for animation.”

“That’s so hot,” Frank says. 

“Being broke and having a ‘tortured soul’ is hot?” Gerard asks, because he’s quite familiar with the publics archetype of artists, and they always have to be those annoying ass artists who are oh so misunderstood by society, and occasionally cut off their ears. 

“No, just the… fuck, I don’t know. There’s something sexy about a guy whose got paint all over his clothes, and forgets to shave ‘cause they’re so caught up in a picture, and paints hot naked people in their spare time.”

“Well I’ll paint you naked anytime, you’ve got yourself a promise about that,” Gerard says, and Frank makes a moaning sound, and Gerard realizes that in Frank’s dirty little mind, that was dirty talk. 

“You dirty little man!” Gerard says, laughing at him, as Frank timidly eyes the people around him, which are few, but not nonexistent. Gerard doesn’t mind, he embraces his own oddities. Frank on the other hand does not want anyone in the entire world, and that for the time being even includes Gerard, to know about his kinks, thank you very much. 

“Oh my god, you can joke. You have like thirty kinks.”

“Yeah, but I’m not embarrassed by them, Mr. Vanilla.”

“Who the fuck are you calling vanilla? You’re literally whiter than your teeth, have you ever actually been in the sun?” Frank says, trying to steer them off subject.

“Why does no one understand the vampire aesthetic I’ve got going on,” Gerard says, shaking his head, but it’s true. He’s never seen the sun; he’s been living in a dungeon his entire life. He’s pretty sure the sun would blind him if he ever saw it. 

“I prefer zombies myself,” Frank says, silently cheering that he got them off the subject of kinks.

“Well who doesn’t?” Gerard says, “they haven’t been ruined by pop culture yet. And by pop culture, I mean Stephanie Meyer.”

“I just really love Frankenstein.”

“Is he technically a zombie?” Gerard asks, because he’s honestly never considered what type of lifeform Frankenstein was.

“Technically he was a human,” Frank says, and Gerard punches him.

“You’re _that_ dick,” Gerard says, and then makes a nasally sort of voice, which is saying something considering the fact that Gerard’s voice is fairly nasal to begin with, “’technically Frankenstein is the name of the scientist, the monster is actually just called the monster.’”

Frank nods, and says with mock sincerity, “I set a trap, and you stepped into it, what can I say? You’re an idiot.”

“You’re getting off topic,” Gerard says, “You’re a kinky bastard, you just don’t want to admit it.”

Frank turns red, and curses to himself that they’re back at this. He was quite proud of himself for avoiding the subject. “You have a thing for me being a teacher!”

“And I don’t have a problem with admitting it. I think it’s hot. I think it’s fucking sexy. You want me to paint you naked,” Gerard says.

“You’re the one who brought that up,” Frank groans, while Gerard continues to laugh at him. Frank keeps blushing every time he looks at Gerard, and he can’t stop it.

“Oh my, you can deny it all you want, but you’re vanilla,” Gerard says, “The worst kind of vanilla too. You think you’re a little kinky but you’re actually just a sad little man who’s never seen the world.”

“I feel like you insulting me isn’t the best way for you to get into my pants.”

“We both know you’d take your pants off right now if I asked you to,” Gerard says.

“You probably wouldn’t have to, would you magic man?” Frank asks, “All you’d have to say was abracadabra.”

“Who are you kidding, that’d probably be too kinky for your pale ass. If you were an ice cream flavor,” Gerard says, “you’d be vanilla. Vanilla bean if you were feeling saucy.”

“Oh and what would you be?” 

“I’m cookie dough all the way, baby.”

“I don’t know if that’s sexy or if it’s weird. I’m thinking weird. Yeah, no, it’s weird. You’re weird.”

“Yeah, but what’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

“You son of a bitch,” Frank groans. Wouldn’t you know that Gerard would be able to guess his favorite ice cream flavor? To be fair, cookie dough is the most superior type of ice cream there is, but still.

“Magic,” Gerard says, with jazz hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm legally required to say shut up and let me see your jazz hands. Todays comment prompt: what kind of ice cream flavor are you?


	8. Here We Go Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nails and Walmart.

Gerard’s not entirely sure how it is that he was talked into sitting here, and he couldn’t tell you why it is that a nail salon in a Walmart is open past midnight but he knows for sure that Frank’s fucking eyes had something to do with it. Frank just batted those long eyelashes of his and Gerard just magically appeared in a salon getting his nails done, and he really couldn’t say more on the topic than that.

Frank, sitting adjacent to him, looks completely ecstatic. 

“I mean, I can’t believe you never even considered it, Gerard,” Frank says, “it’s quite relaxing.”

“I never denied that, I’ve just never had the urge,” Gerard says. He’s never even considered getting his nails done. He crashed a slumber party once when he was about thirteen because he was able to convince his friends mom that he was, in fact, a girl, and he got his nails done there, but that was nearly fifteen years ago. He made a pretty convincing girl. That was not the last time he was able to convince someone he was a girl.

“It’s just fun,” Frank shrugs. Frank had to explain to Gerard what getting your nails done actually means, because Gerard had never even considered the fact that there are people who actually do this. Regularly. Apparently Frank is one of those people.

“Why are you even open this late?” Gerard asks the woman doing his nails, which he’s getting red. Frank said that you don’t actually have to get a color, but Gerard thought that spoiled the fun a little bit. He doesn’t have a job to get to on Monday, so fuck it. He’s going to have bright red nails and everyone’s going to be jealous.

“Drunk women love getting their nails done,” the woman shrugs. Gerard doesn’t know why, but the thought amuses him. He can’t stop picturing a drunk woman sitting in this chair flirting with the manicurist. Drunk woman have the tendency to be really gay, or at least, that is Gerard’s experience with them. He thinks that their drunkenness allows them the comfort of forgetting about heteronormativity. Hayley gets really gay when she’s drunk, she just kind of compliments every single girl she sees and then falls asleep on Gerard’s lap. It’s pretty fucking adorable. 

“I love drunk women,” Frank says, “they’re so nice. They always give me relationship advice, and I had one try to braid my hair once.”

“They often try to paint _our_ nails,” Gerard’s manicurist says, and the one doing Frank’s nails nods. Gerard awws a little bit. 

“They also love stickers,” the woman doing Frank’s nails says, “that’s why we keep stickers near the front of the store. I’ve had at least five women decorate me with stickers.”

“God,” Gerard groans, “When I was a drunk I used to just puke on shit and insult people. I was never in anyway cute.”

“You used to be a drunk?” Frank asks.

“It’s not something that I like to talk about,” Gerard replies.

“Sorry. It’s just that, you don’t really look like you used to do anything. You look about 12.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Gerard nods, “I’m basically just a taller version of myself with yellow teeth and a bad attitude.”

“Aren’t we all?” Frank says, nodding halfheartedly like he knows it’s true but he doesn’t like admitting it. 

Gerard looks over at Frank, and tries to reason with himself why you would want to get a clear manicure, because like, that’s just so boring. He gets that Frank doesn’t want to look gaudy, but it kind of spoils the fun. Gerard has always been very effeminate, and he’s comfortable with that, so he doesn’t know why he’s never gotten his nails done before. Really though, all he needs is some lipstick and he’ll be able to seriously confuse heterosexual men.

“Frank, you strike me as a black nail polish person,” Gerard says.

“I was in high school,” Frank shrugs, “Actually, I was a permanent marker in history class while _totally_ paying attention to the Napoleonic wars lecture kind of person in high school.”

“Weren’t we all,” Gerard nods, because he remembers those days quite clearly. He had to stop because he started to get high off the sharpie fumes and it really interfered with his favorite period of the day, lunch, which he had right after history. Gerard has always found history to be quite tedious because there’s only so many white dictators you can read about before they start blending together.

“That shit smells though,” Frank says, “I’ve tried to repress my high school life as much as I can, but honestly I don’t remember most of it for other reasons.”

“I fucking knew it,” Gerard says, “you have stoner written across your forehead.”

“Hey,” Frank says, but he’s not denying anything. “Okay fine. But I bet you were an art freak in high school who showered once a week.”

“What do you mean ‘in high school’?” Gerard asks, because that pretty much describes him now. Sometimes, if he’s feeling particularly gross, he’ll even shower twice a week. This is very rare though.

“I’m learning a lot about you,” Frank says, “I bet you were also one of the people who ‘forgot’ their gym bag every day.”

“I’m pretty sure I participated in gym three times in four years.”

“Well that’s more than I did,” Frank shrugs.

“Personally, I don’t believe in physical exertion. I believe in donuts and Brooklyn Nine-Nine marathons.”

“You’re my fucking soulmate,” Frank says.

“To be fair, that describes most people,” one of the manicurist’s says.

“Ah yes, but never has anyone said that who was also willing to make out with me, and honestly, the willingness to make out with me is probably the most important characteristic of my soulmate. Otherwise I’m just a guy on an episode of a murder show who kidnaps a bitch due to a fundamentally lacking concept of consent. I don’t really have the overwhelming desire to kidnap Gerard, so his agreement of such a hobby is pretty much a number one on the checklist of my soulmate.”

“You and your sweet talk,” Gerard gushes. “We’ve come a long way since we first met. When we met you were going to stab be in an alley, now you’re going to attempt to not murder me which is honestly just the sweetest thing.”

“Well the key to any relationship is to hold the murderous instinct at bay,” Frank says.

“No offense but you two are really white,” Frank’s manicurist says.

“I never tried to deny that,” Gerard says. “But don’t mistake my acceptance for pride.”

“Fair enough,” she nods, making a face, and finishing up Frank’s nails before Gerard’s even half done with his. To be fair, Gerard’s getting a couple coats of the red nail polish that he spent too long picking out, and all Frank had was the basic treatment. Gerard’s reasoning is that if he’s going to be spending the next three weeks filling out job application forms, with all that typing, his hands might as well look fucking beautiful while he’s doing it.

“You know I had my hair this color once,” Gerard says.

“No way,” Frank says, looking excited. “You had bright red hair? Gosh, you either looked like Ronald McDonald or a sex god, and there is no in between.”

“Yeah, that was during my ‘it’s not just a phase, mom’ phase.”

“But it wasn’t just a phase I see,” Frank says, narrowing his eyes at Gerard. He’s right, it wasn’t.

“It’s not _my_ fault that the Smashing Pumpkins exist.”

“Your cat is called Billie Joe Armstrong, Gerard,” Frank reminds him. Frank remains in his seat, not wanting to disrupt his newly manicured nails, but it’s hard because he really just wants to go over there and kiss that motherfucker until he can’t breathe.

“Ah yes,” Gerard nods, “this is also true. It’s a good thing I didn’t bring up my other cat called Billy Corgan.”

“You’re literal trash. But you never answered my question. Which was it? Ronald McDonald or sex god?”

“It varied day to day, honestly,” Gerard says, “but, overwhelmingly, I looked like Elmo.”

“I still probably would’ve been into you,” Frank says, “I have overwhelmingly poor standards, and bad taste.”

“I’m a magnet for assholes,” Gerard nods.

“Well you’ve reeled one in,” Frank says, pointing at himself. Gerard makes the mistake of mentally imagining an actual magnet that attracts assholes and it really bothers him for a minute before he can shake the mental image away. He feels like that would be one fucked up episode of The Flash.

“So,” Gerard looks at his manicurist, “like, if I were to, hypothetically, claw someone to death à la Wolverine, would they be able to trace these nails back to me? Asking for a friend?”

“Probably,” she says.

“Well there go my weekend plans,” Gerard sighs.

“Who is it you want to claw to death?” Frank asks.

“My upstairs neighbor just bought a DDR mat. I can tell because they’re thumping to the beat of Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne every day at like seven in the morning and there’s only so much Avril you can take.”

“That is a situation that I can honestly say I cannot empathize with,” Frank says, because he really can’t. It’s too specific.

“Avril Lavigne, more like Advil Lavigne, amiright?” Gerard says, turning to Frank and he honestly just looks so proud of himself, Frank wants to hold and protect him. He wants to shelter him from all the evil in this world. Wants to build a barricade of blankets and pillows so that no one can ever hurt him.

“Go die in a well,” is what Frank actually ends up saying to him.

“Someone’s a little persnickety about Avril,” Gerard replies.

“Who the fuck says persnickety?” 

“You’re a teacher, you should be proud of my interest in language,” Gerard replies.

“My kids think the word ‘Monday’ is too long, I once spent five minutes trying to teach a kid how to say Chrysanthemum.”

“Tell me, is one of your kids actually Garfield?”

“Actually fuck off,” Frank says.

Gerard snorts out laughter, it’s anything but attractive but it makes Frank fall in love with him a few times over. He desperately wants to make Gerard laugh, a laugh from his fucking belly, wants to make him laugh so hard he has trouble breathing and is physically in pain. He wants to hear Gerard laugh for the rest of forever, and he wants to be the one who makes him laugh the most.

“Alright, you’re done,” the woman says, and Gerard looks at his nails which he’s actually moderately proud of. Not even Hayley gets her nails done professionally, she’s going to be so jealous. 

“Well fuck if I’m not just the most attractive unemployed trash can you’ve ever seen,” Gerard says.

“Unemployed trash can is my new nickname for you, it’s too late, no takebacks,” Frank says.

“I’m calling you a vanilla punk ass then.”

“Funnily enough, vanilla punk ass was my senior quote.”

“You two were made for each other,” the woman who did Gerard’s nails says, and Gerard agrees. He knows she’s saying it sarcastically because she thinks they’re slightly idiotic and inferior to herself, and in all honesty, given her fucking amazing contouring, they probably are, but he still enjoys the sentiment. She’s the kind of girl that Gerard would follow around for days just to try to be her. 

“It’s not quite a boob job, but it’ll have to do,” Frank says, standing up and walking over to the checkout counter. Gerard does seem to recall Frank offering to pay for his boob job, and Gerard doesn’t know how on earth it’s possible for anyone to share his humor to a T as Frank does but he’s in love with it. He’s kind of in love with Frank. ‘Kind of’ is not a very accurate way of phrasing it. Gerard is in love with Frank.

Gerard stays seated, casually stares at Frank’s ass, and wonders exactly how he came to be here. A lot of different things all had to align at once for him to have found himself right here and right now.

Gerard had to get fired today. He had to get fired, and had to resign to moping at the bar, being apparently irresistible. He had to get hit on by Halitosis incarnate, Frank had to rescue him. Frank had to have been celebrating his coworker’s birthday, they had to have been close enough to have chosen the bar right under where Gerard lives, and he had to be there long enough to see Gerard get hit on. He had to have been able to read Gerard’s thoughts or body language well enough to know that he needed help. The stars had to align in so many different ways for this to be happening right now, and Gerard is eternally thankful.

It’s been a few hours and Gerard can barely remember what his life was like before Frank in it. It’s like, he knows his past is there in his head, and it was great, a lot of his life has been fantastic, but it would have been so much more fantastic if Frank had been there. His life is already getting better and Frank’s only been in it for a handful of hours. What will his life look like if Frank’s still here in a few years?

“You know I can tell you’re looking at my butt, right?” Frank says, breaking Gerard’s reverie.

“I just got lost in thought,” Gerard shrugs, as he pulls himself to his feet. He walks over to Frank, resisting the urge to throw him against the wall and make out with him. Maybe another time. Like, in five minutes.

“You got lost in thought while staring at my ass?” Frank asks.

“That’s the whole basis of this relationship, I don’t know why you sound so surprised?” Gerard replies.

“Touché,” Frank nods.

“I think you mean ‘tooshie.’”

“You son of a-,” Frank starts, and Gerard, instinctively, starts running away from him. This is for many reasons. For one, not a soul in the world other than a middle aged soccer mom should ever, for any reason, use the word tooshie. For another, anyone who _does_ use that word deserves to have their head bashed against a wall. Lastly, Gerard is really fucking excited to find out what happens when Frank catches him.

As they’re in a Walmart, Gerard does not have an ultimate destination. He just runs through the office supplies aisle, and turns to look over his shoulder at Frank. Frank, even though he is far shorter than Gerard, is a faster runner. He’s probably the kid that no one wanted on their kickball team but when it came down to it, he was actually a secret weapon.

Frank catches him in the lightbulb aisle, getting his hands around his waist and nearly pulling him to the ground.

Gerard turns to him, only to be met with Frank’s mouth immediately on his, frantic, and eager. Gerard matches his enthusiasm, grabbing Frank by the sides of his head and deepening the kiss. He hadn’t realized that he closed his eyes, but when he peaks one eye open, he realizes how nice it looks that his bright red nails are on either side of Frank’s face, keeping him there. There’s something insatiably sexy about it. 

“God, I fucking love you,” Gerard says, not even aware of his own decision to say it. It just comes out, like word vomit, not even told to say it out loud by his own brain.

Frank laughs, which terrifies Gerard to the bone, until he says, “thank god.”

Gerard, still not entirely sure what Frank means, pulls away from him enough to look him in the eyes. His dark brown eyes meet Gerard’s lighter ones. Their stare is intense and deep, like they’re not looking simply into each other’s eyes, but like they can see right into the others’ soul.

“I love you too, Gerard,” Frank says, without hesitation. Gerard’s heart swells, like the Grinch’s growing three sizes, only Gerard’s heart was overflowing to begin with. He pulls Frank to him again, kissing the shit out of him because there’s no other way to get across just how much he _wants_ this man than to show him. He just can’t put it into words, can’t even reason with it himself. He wants and needs Frank so much that it hurts. It hurts him to his very core, and yet it’s the kind of hurt that he craves. 

An employee walks by the aisle, looking completely unfazed by the whole exchange. He looks like it’s a standard thing for two boys to declare their love for each other at one in the morning in the lamp aisle. Just another normal day at work for a Walmart employee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long, I've been focusing more on my other fic, I hope I haven't lost anyone's interest. I will try to update more frequently, please leave a comment if you're still here!


	9. When It Rains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miley Cyrus and Ketchup.

“You’ve gotta choose, Gerard,” Frank says.

“I don’t! It’s never going to happen.”

“That’s not the point though, is it? It’s called would you rather because you’d never find yourself in the event, so what would you rather do?”

“I mean… I just really don’t want to be anywhere near Miley Cyrus’s feet, the thought of it is really starting to bother me. I don’t like feet, Frank, you’re the one with the foot fetish.”

“I literally don’t have a foot fetish, _you’re_ the one who made that up!” Frank says.

“You’re the one who brought up the feet this time though, I don’t know why you keep defending yourself when we both know the truth.”

“Oh shut up,” Frank groans, “just choose. Would you rather lick Miley Cyrus’ foot or wear a shirt made out of ketchup for an entire day?”

“They’re both horrific,” Gerard says, shaking his head. He looks up at the night sky, a brilliant pale indigo with clouds overtaking the night sky quickly. The moon is hidden behind a large cloud, but the street lights manage to guide their steps. They’re heading away from the nightlife of the city, and into a smaller, cleaner area from the looks of the streets. There’s still dozens of coke cans and grocery bags littering the streets but there’s only a piece of gum every yard rather than every six inches and that’s how you know you’re living it up. 

“Just pick one,” Frank says.

“Ugh, fine. I mean, I guess if I had to, I’d just wear the fucking ketchup shirt,” Gerard says, “I don’t think I’m ever going to get that image out of my head though, you asshole.”

“I’m not sorry,” Frank says laughing, and when Gerard punches him in the shoulder, it only makes him laugh harder.

“Fuck you,” Gerard says. “What would you do in the same situation?”

“Me?” Frank asks, “Oh I’d like Miley’s foot. Because, as we have established, I have a foot fetish.”

“You just denied it!” Gerard yells.

“I no, I said that just to piss you off. I’d choose Miley’s foot because ketchup is gross, and I’d be way more grossed out with ketchup than pretty much anyone’s foot. Hell I’d lick your foot without any extortion.”

“And you don’t have a foot fetish,” Gerard says, rolling his eyes. He looks at Frank, who’s looking at the sky, trying to discern anything from the colors above. There’s no stars in sight, covered by the clouds and the bright lights of the city. He doubts you’d be able to see many, if any if the clouds were to go away. That’s one thing that sucks about the city, it drowns out all the light from the stars. Their shine has taken millions of years to reach earth, so many thousands of hours, trekking across lightyears by the millions, through heaven and hell, and by the time that their light finally reaches earth, you can’t see them because people won’t turn off their damn lights.

They’re in a park, not a big one, but one that’s large enough that from the middle, it’s almost like they’re not in a big city. There’s big buildings everywhere, huge and intimidating, but they don’t look nearly as big as they do when you’re standing beside them. They’re not particularly close to anything commercial, and Gerard’s okay with that. He doesn’t really want to go inside right now, he’s happy just to walk with Frank out here. 

“God,” Gerard says, having a moment of utter disbelief when he looks at Frank.

“What?” he asks.

“I just can’t believe all of this is happening,” Gerard says. “I met you in a fucking bar, got hit on by some sleaze ball and that has led me… here? Of all places? How this has happened, I haven’t a clue. I’ve been, wow, this is all just such a whirlwind, you know? It doesn’t seem real; _you_ don’t seem real. None of this should be real. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

“It’s pretty bewildering,” Frank says, nodding, “I haven’t had a proper boyfriend in months, hell, I haven’t kissed a guy in even longer and now, you’re just, well you’re perfect, and everything I could have asked for, and it’s so weird? I’ve fallen in love with a near stranger and yet it feels right. It’s never felt this pure before. I’ve never had this feeling, not even with guys I’ve dated for months, or years. Nothing like what I’ve come to feel in the space of only a few hours.”

“This is crazy,” Gerard says.

“It’s completely stupid,” Frank nods in agreement, “Is this what it’s supposed to be like?” 

“What what’s supposed to be like?” Gerard asks.

“Falling for someone?” Frank replies. “I mean, I’ve said I love you to boys before, and I thought I meant it, but this is different. There’s still so much more about you I have to learn, but gosh, this must be what it’s always been about, right? This is what musicians, poets, writers, everybody, this is what they’ve been talking about this entire time, and I just never knew.”

“We’re so sappy.”

“You brought it up,” Frank laughs as he pulls Gerard down to him by the collar of his shirt. Gerard’s never going to get used to the feeling of kissing Frank. Never could he have known what it would feel like to kiss someone and just _know_. He knows that there is something about Frank that he needs to be around for. Whether Frank is the one or just a stepping stone along the way he doesn’t know, but he knows, deep in his bones, that Frank has a very important role to play in his life. He highly doubts that Frank is just a step along the way though. 

“This isn’t going to entirely sink in, possibly ever,” Gerard says.

“It doesn’t need to,” Frank says, which is something Gerard hadn’t even considered. He thinks he’d like it if this were never too sink in. If it could just always feel fresh, exciting, unexpected and hectic for all time, he would never get bored again. It’s one of the best days of his life, he could get used to it staying that way.

“You’re amazing,” Gerard says, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Honestly, the way Frank just keeps getting _better_ , as opposed to other people who get worse the more you learn about them, it’s completely unheard of. Gerard’s never met anyone who keeps getting better. Not even Mikey, or Hayley, or anyone.

“I know,” Frank says, and Gerard can’t just _not_ kiss him. He’s running on a timer where if he doesn’t kiss Frank every couple of minutes he starts to feel an aching in him. This kiss is far deeper than the last, the kind of kiss that really shouldn’t be in public, but there’s no one around to see them and it’s pushing two in the morning anyway, so they’re fine. It’s kind of slobbery, definitely messy, but it’s worth it. 

There’s a rumbling in the sky above them, and then, without even the slightest of warning, the rain comes like a snap of the finger. One second, the night is dry and breezy, the next second, torrential downpour.

“Aw fuck,” Gerard says, pulling away from Frank, and looking up for barely a second and getting water in his eyes.

“Where the fuck did that even come from?” Frank shouts, because Gerard wouldn’t be able to hear him if he didn’t. 

“I don’t know,” Gerard responds, “shit, fuck.”

His hair is already plastered to his face, and he could wring out his shirt, and next to him, Frank looks like a wet dog. He looks fucking adorable with his hair in his face, flat and dripping instead of wild and messy, it’s adorable, not maybe the sexiest thing in the world but he’s cute as fuck. 

“Shit, we need to get inside,” Frank says, and Gerard agrees.

They can barely see two feet in front of them however. The rain is thick, and the sky is dark, not giving them any light to see their way. It’s anyone’s guess as to where they even are. If they didn’t have an approximate of where they are, this could be the fucking Amazon.

“Uh, that way?” Gerard offers pointing a little way down where there’s a street light to illuminate part of the sidewalk. Frank just nods, and they head towards it, drenching wet, with their shoes sloshing on the pavement, gross and uncomfortable. Once under the shine of the lamppost, they don’t see any buildings in sight, because it’s just their luck that the rain would start to fall just as they come upon a park.

“Fuck,” Frank says, because no direction looks entirely promising, and even if they find cover, they’re soaked through to the skin already.

“There’s no use at this point,” Gerard says. “We’re wet, finding shelter isn’t going to make us any less wet. Fuck it.”

“Fair enough,” Frank says, and he realizes that right now, he can fulfill one of his longest ever dreams. “Kiss me in the rain!”

“What? Yes!” Gerard says, barely having enough time to get the words out before Frank’s grabbing the sides of his head and kissing him with all the glory of a Nicholas Sparks novel only way less shitty and generic. 

Honestly, Frank wouldn’t have expected it to live up to all of his dreams and fantasies, but it most certainly does. There’s something very romantic about it, and it’s not just because Frank’s seen Enchanted too many times, either. He really can’t describe it either, it’s just, romantic the way that candles are romantic, or the way that the sky is blue. It just _is_.

He thinks mainly that the great thing is, while he’s kissing Gerard, his shoes don’t seem so wet and sludgy. His hair doesn’t seem so itchy and clingy. His clothes don’t seem so heavy and uncomfortable. Nothing is wrong with the entire world when you’re kissing someone in the rain. 

“Fuck,” Gerard says, pulling away at least two minutes later when his lungs are on fire from lack of air.

“And they make it look good in the movies,” Frank says. And that’s when Gerard decides that air can fuck off. Gerard could die happily of asphyxiation if it means that he kisses Frank until his last breath. Gerard fulfils a lifelong dream of his own when he lifts Frank up off the ground ever so slightly and twirls him before putting him back on the ground. The only thing that could make it better is if they were standing far apart and ran to each other. Gerard’s seen too many chick flicks. He likes to call them dick flicks though.

“I fucking love you,” Frank says, his voice broken and honest.

“I know,” Gerard says, and that’s when Frank realizes that Gerard is literally the Han Solo to his Leia. This revelation gives him a Cheshire cat grin that Gerard’s never going to get out of his head. Frank’s face is going to haunt him in his sleep, he just knows it. He can just about see Frank’s brown eyes when he blinks, etching an imprint into Gerard’s brain so that he’ll never be able to let Frank go. 

This moment is perfect. Gerard’s hair is dripping, everything his heavy, you could wring out his _shoes_ , and they’re nowhere near the warmth of indoors, but this moment is perfect. It’s a universal feeling, one that anyone in the world could feel under the same circumstances, but it’s perfect. It couldn’t get better. It’s with Frank, and buckets of rain are falling on top of them, the night sky is alight with lightning, and there’s no peace with the booming of thunder every few minutes, but there’s nothing Gerard would change about it in the world. There’s nothing about Frank he would change in the world.

If Gerard thinks that this feeling in his gut is erratic or poignant, he doesn’t know anything. This is nothing. This isn’t a candle to how he’s going to feel for Frank just a minute from now. His love for Frank is growing, and it’s already infinite. But somehow he feels more and more by the second.

“I’m never gonna come down from you,” Gerard says, not entirely sure what he means by that.

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Frank says, smiling, because it feels like he’s finally got it. It’s like he nabbed the last laptop at a Black Friday sale, standing here with Gerard, he doesn’t just think he’s found the one, he’s sure of it. He’s never letting go of Gerard now. Nothing in this entire world could pull him away from this man, never, not for any reason.

Little does he know that their time together is actually about to run out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comment prompt: what would you rather do, lick Miley Cyrus' foot or wear a shirt made of ketchup for an entire day?


	10. Never Let This Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last hurrah.

“Stop peaking!” Gerard insists, squirming a little at the thought of Frank _looking_ at him like that. 

“I’m not!” Frank says. He’s lying. Like he’s actually going to miss out on the chance to look at Gerard with minimal clothes on, he’s not an idiot. 

“You are,” Gerard says, because he’s not an idiot. Even if he weren’t trying, this is a dressing room with mirrors on every wall but the door. There’s nowhere for Frank to look, at aside from the insides of his own eyelids, that doesn’t have Gerard’s image plastered onto it. 

“Well if I am then I can tell you that you look really great and I’m trying super hard not to jump your bones right now,” Frank says. “But since I’m not looking, I’m still trying really hard not to jump your bones.”

“I’ve never understood that phrase, ‘jump your bones.’ Sounds like something Sally would say to Jack after hitting the absinth a little too hard.”

“I don’t even want to know why you were considering that so complexly,” Frank says, shaking his head, and just sighing. He looks at Gerard’s reflection in the mirror, a new, dry shirt on, which makes him look far less uncomfortable, but still, he could shake his hair out like a dog and create his own waterpark.

“Your turn,” Gerard says, when he decides that the shirt looks fine. Frank is aware that they could have changed at the same time, but he didn’t want to miss out on this golden opportunity. It’s cramped in here, they might have bumped elbows, it just made more sense to go one at a time. Or at least, that’s the lie he told Gerard to convince him to go first.

Really though, Gerard gets the better end of this deal. Seeing Frank shirtless is a whole lot more interesting than Gerard. Gerard is just a pale, pudgy nerd. Frank is a tattooed sex god. 

Frank would argue that it’s the other way around, but he’s not in the business of arguing with people who are half naked because, really that’s not a situation in which you want to have a debate. Because if someone is half naked in front of you, you should either be really turned on or really fucking uncomfortable. Sometimes both. 

In any case, Gerard has to stop himself from drooling when Frank takes off his shirt which is still dripping wet and sticking to his skin. If they weren’t in the dressing room of a small boutique at two in the morning, Gerard would do terribly obscene things to Frank right about now. 

“What are you staring at?” Frank asks when Gerard finally gets a full glimpse of his chest piece in all of it’s glory. Gerard doubts that there’s an inch of him unmarked, and this is leading to him being very, very, _very_ excited. He couldn’t even name the number of things he’s excited about, it’s too long of a list. Mostly he’s just excited that this guy actually agreed to kiss him, and seems to enjoy it.

“You,” Gerard says, mouth open and gaping.

“You act like you’ve never seen a tattoo before,” Frank says.

“Well I’ve never seen yours,” Gerard replies, and although every single instinct in his body is saying not to, Gerard just has to touch. He’s just got to. He’s got to trace his hands over anything he can get his fucking hands on.

“No, go ahead,” Frank says, sarcastically after Gerard starts to trace alone his chest.

“Oh sorry,” Gerard says, trying to take his hand back, but Frank grabs it and puts it on the space where his shoulder and neck meet. 

“I didn’t ask you to stop,” Frank says, at which point, Gerard turns to a syrupy puddle on the ground.

“Well fuck,” Gerard whispers before attacking Frank’s mouth with his own. 

It’s a small dressing room, not really made for two people, so it’s no surprise when Gerard winds up pinned to the wall with Frank’s tongue down his throat, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that it’s an experience Gerard will enjoy reminiscing about. It makes it all the better that Frank is not wearing a shirt. This is a teenage girl’s diary entry if there ever was one. 

Gerard’s hands are frantic on Frank, trying to touch every bit of skin he can get his hands on, his chest, shoulders, back, sides, arms, really just anything exposed. He’s so warm, his skin like warmth incarnate under Gerard’s fingertips. Like a hearth, almost, cozy and comforting. 

Frank chuckles a little when Gerard starts whining, making these little wounded puppy noises deep in the back of his throat.

“This is great and all, Gerard,” Frank says, “but there’s two sales ladies like five feet outside this door.”

“Fucking hell,” Gerard groans.

“We should really just get changed and leave,” Frank says, though he looks sad about it. If they weren’t at least a couple of miles away from his apartment, Gerard would drag him there half naked right now, but at this distance it would be considered exercise and Gerard is just not about that life.

“You’re right,” Gerard sighs.

“Let me get my shirt on,” Frank says, grabbing the dark grey T-shirt he found on the sales rack. Nothing glamorous, but he wasn’t searching for glamor, he just didn’t want to be so wet.

Frank makes a point to stick his ass out in front of Gerard’s eyes when he peels off his wet jeans as well. He’s intentionally taunting Gerard. Showing him every bit of him that Gerard would really like to have right about now. Gerard hadn’t been that vindictive, he’d just cowered in the corner, changed his pants really quick and blushed for five minutes. He’s thanking the heavens that he wasn’t wearing his Star Wars boxers because that’s a side of him that Frank doesn’t need to see right now.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Gerard says. 

“Why thank you,” Frank says, grinning back at him with this smile that Gerard swears could be confused with the sun.

Frank pulls on the dry pants quickly, feeling immediately relieved at the sense of warmth that they instill. He’s going to get a cold for sure, he knows it, but it doesn’t matter. He’s enjoyed this night more than any other night of his life, if a cold is his payment for that, than a cold it is. 

“Are you ready to get going?” Frank asks, when Gerard can’t stop staring at him. Gerard might as well be drooling, he’s that glossed over with Frank’s everything all at once.

“What? Oh, yeah,” Gerard says, nodding. Frank just grins, and nods at him. He opens the door to the dressing room, and takes Gerard’s hand before they leave, not wanting to let him go for even a second. He’s sure that he’s going to have Gerard’s hand in his for the rest of his life, one way or another.

The store is small, but the warmth of it is immediately evident when the two of them step foot back on the street. It’s still a nicer neighborhood, one where, if you get mugged, the police might actually read the report, rather than just throw your case in the trash can the first chance they get. 

“It smells like rain,” Gerard says, taking in a big, deep breath at the intoxicating scent. 

“One of my favorite smells,” Frank says, not mentioning that his new favorite smell is Gerard. Gerard smells feminine, which Frank had thought would be off putting, but it’s not. It’s a crisp smell, like some fruit or another, but Frank couldn’t say which. He thinks that his strongest memory of Gerard is already the way he smells, and he doesn’t know why. There’s just something about his scent that is more prominent than anything else, and that’s including his smile, eyes, and even his laugh. Though if Frank is being completely honest, Gerard’s laugh is probably his favorite thing, not only about Gerard, but about the entire world. 

“I hope it doesn’t rain again,” Gerard says, frowning, because this outfit, while not going into the record books, is one that he doesn’t want to get wet. He didn’t buy this for it to get wet again in five minutes.

“Well, we’ve got an umbrella now,” Frank says, holding up the bag from the boutique.

“Yeah,” Gerard nods. His shoes and socks are still wet, which is uncomfortable, but he’s not going to buy a brand new pair of shoes just because they’re wet. They’ll dry off soon enough, though it might take a day or two, given the awkward shape. 

The small plastic big in his hands with his wet clothes in it weighs what feels like several tons, and he knows he’s going to get tired far quicker with this in his hands. As it is, he already feels like he’s tiring out from carrying it, so he looks around until he spots a bench not too far from where they are. 

“Can we…?” Gerard starts, pointing to the bench.

“Yeah, probably should,” Frank says, because they’ve barely had a chance to sit down all night. 

The two of them walk over to the bench, covered in small little droplets of rain, but it’s not that bad, it’s stiller drier than the grass beneath their feet.

“Just give me a few minutes to sit down,” Gerard says when they reach it, “I’m so old now, fuck, my legs hurt when I stand for too long.”

“I’m old too then,” Frank says, laughing as he sits beside Gerard on the bench, looking at him so adoringly you wouldn’t believe that they only met a few hours ago. “Dude, you know when you grow up and then all family dinners become a competition to see who’s had the most surgeries, or who has the most pain in insert body part here?”

“The truth is that those conversations happen at all family gatherings throughout your life, but you don’t notice them when you’re a kid because your weird uncle Sal is pulling a nickel out of your ear.”

“You have a weird uncle Sal too?”

“Dude, I’m Italian,” Gerard replies, as a response.

“Touché,” Frank nods. It is a given that every Italian person has a weird uncle Sal. Also, anyone from Long Island.

“God my ass is gonna get wet,” Frank groans when he moves a little to feel the bench still coated in rain.

“Suck it up, man,” Gerard says, shrugging. He doesn’t mind it so much, Gerard doesn’t mind being wet, he’s never particularly bothered by the rain, because he’s got one hell of an immune system and has only ever had like three colds throughout his entire life. Frank is not so lucky, because he gets a cold from opening the refrigerator door for too long. 

“Well, if the fact that I’m irrevocably in love with you doesn’t make me remember this night, the pneumonia I’m going to get sure will,” Frank states.

Gerard rolls his eyes at him, but smiles anyway and wraps Frank in his arms. Gerard will fight off the fucking germs with his bare hands if it means protecting Frank. God, he cannot believe he cares so much about this short little asshole with tattoos, but he can’t deny it to himself. 

Frank settles into Gerard’s embrace, perfectly content to let Gerard’s warmth radiate into him, because Frank is a firm believer that there is no such thing as a bad cuddle. He’s also always freezing, so he could really use the heat. 

Gerard’s just so warm though. And Frank fits in with him like something _else_. Frank’s back is against Gerard’s chest, Gerard’s legs wrapped around him at an awkward looking angle that somehow feels right, and it’s just exactly that. _Right_. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable, there’s no weird pressure, no limbs are falling asleep or any bones jamming into any body parts, which are easily the two most common issues with spooning. Neither of those are a problem though, this is just an entirely new feeling, one where nothing at all is wrong, and somehow the fact that nothing feels weird or awkward is a milestone 

“My brother is going to give me so much grief for tonight,” Gerard days, shaking his head.

“Fuck dude, I mean Ray is going to have some serious ammunition to make fun of me, but like, I wouldn’t take any of this back. Not a second of it. Not even the measliest detail. Everything about this has been perfect, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Don’t we just sound like the best rom com of the year?” Gerard asks, laughing. “Oh my god, I can see the movie trailer.”

Frank laughs and then gets all excited, talks more with his hands than his mouth, saying, “starring Ryan Reynolds and Channing Tatum.”

“Fuck, I would watch the heck out of that movie,” Gerard laughs, because honestly, that’s all his dreams come true. Every last one of them. One of the first things on his list of wishes is to see Ryan Reynolds kiss a dude, and Deadpool 2 is going to take a few years so a cheesy rom com could really satiate that need until then.

“Probably be my second favorite movie,” Frank says, and when Gerard gives him a questioning look he adds, “after that Dylan O’Brien movie.”

“Oh yes,” Gerard nods, “because it’s a gay movie, which can only mean one thing.”

“Dead gays,” Frank nods somberly.

“Which of them do you think it would be?” Gerard asks.

“Both,” Frank says, “because, the problem is that they’d have far too much chemistry. Unlike all the indie films with gays that can’t act, this would be Channing fucking Tatum, and Ryan goddamn Reynolds, they’d make homophobe’s jealous, and when you’ve got all that talent, I mean, you gotta kill them. Gays can’t have happy endings in Hollywood, you know that.”

“A shame, really,” Gerard says, because he’s secretly wrought with self-hatred and feelings of depreciation that there is not a single good, solid Hollywood relationship that he can identify with that doesn’t end in tragedy. But focusing on that only ever ends him in a depressing spiral of contempt so he chooses to look past that and instead remember that at least Cophine is canon and neither of them are dead.

“God, I just depressed myself,” Frank says, “kiss me, that always seems to make things better.”

Gerard grins and does as he’s asked, and learns that he too is immediately cured of all pain, grief, depression and illness, just by kissing Frank. He could probably live to be immortal if he kissed Frank long enough, and he’s starting to think that just one life with Frank won’t even be enough. He’s already wasted so much of this one not knowing Frank. 

Frank sighs contentedly when he breaks away, and settles back into the grooves and curves of Gerard’s body again, letting his head rest on his shoulder. Gerard hums with satisfaction, because this is just too good. 

He can’t wait to take Frank home. Not in a sexual way, he just can’t wait to be at home, with Frank there. He can’t wait to show him off to everybody, his brother, Hayley, the mailman, passing birds. He can’t wait to have a movie marathon in their pajamas when it’s raining on a Friday night. He can’t wait to make pancakes and try to flip them only to end up with no pancakes and a very messy ceiling. He can’t wait to cuddle Frank in bed instead of on a park bench, and just have him _there_ , beautiful and perfect, soft and sweet, everything Gerard didn’t know he needed until now.

Frank closes his eyes, thinking about all of the same things. He craves domesticity like nothing in the world. He can’t think of anything that he wants more, honestly. Yeah, it would be great to be rich and famous, be in the best fucking band on the planet, or live in a mansion, but what is it worth compared to genuinely enjoying the company of someone you love? What is that life when compared to having a house, a very own structure all to you and the person you love, one that has that individual house _smell_ , as unique as a fingerprint, and it’s yours to share with the person who you’d do anything for. Frank can’t imagine a simpler or more idealistic dream if he tried.

“We’re not going to end up tragically though,” Frank says, softly, almost reassuring himself of something more than he’s trying to reassure Gerard.

“No,” Gerard replies, resting his cheek on the top of Frank’s head, finding that his hair isn’t itchy or tickling him, to his own astonishment. 

“We’ll live happily ever after,” Frank says, and Gerard tangles his fingers with Frank’s at the sound of that, just to see how it looks. He likes the way that his fingers intertwine with Frank’s. They’re so different, it will never stop amazing him. Frank’s got these manly, inked, strong, tanned hands, and Gerard’s got these delicate, pale, intricate ones. It’s like two completely opposite parts that come together to make one complete and proper whole. 

“Happily ever after,” Gerard repeats, tasting the words on his tongue, an unfamiliar feeling that gives him a sense of calmness to think about.

Gerard can’t help himself from closing his own eyes, thinking about all the things that his life is going to have now that he has Frank. His life is about to become drastically different. He’s going to have a completely new life, one with Frank, one with a new job, one where he’s going to devote so much time to Frank rather than the immaterial time fillers that plague him now. He’ll get the chance to introduce people to his boyfriend and he won’t have to feel weird about saying it, like he always has before. Things are going to be so different for him. Everything is going to be better.

Gerard doesn’t feel the tiredness that’s engulfing him. His mind is too awake to alert him to the absolute exhaustion throughout his body. He’s been so distracted by Frank that it didn’t occur to him that he’d ever be tired again. But here, now, he’s almost asleep and he isn’t even aware of it.

Gerard makes a note to tell Frank he loves him. Just a simple ‘I love you’ that he can give him, so that Frank knows that all the things he feels are reciprocated. He means to say it, he honestly does, but he’s so tired that his brain allows him the naïve notion that he can wait a minute. He can say it in a minute, just like you tell yourself when you’re too lazy to stand up to pee. He can tell Frank in a minute. Tell him he loves him. Just a minute. He’ll tell him. 

But Gerard is asleep before he can find the drive to say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long, I have had a crazy last few weeks. Please leave a comment, it means a lot to me!


	11. In the Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all goes to shit.

Frank awakes in a state where he’s not entirely sure if he’s actually awake or not. He’s very comfy, very warm, very much at peace. He feels arms wrapped around him, warm ones, strong ones. He remembers instantly who those arms belong to. 

Frank smiles, remembering Gerard. He remembers the night they shared, the best night of Frank’s life. He remembers every last moment. 

He remembers watching Gerard the second he stepped foot in the bar. He saw Gerard, didn’t see anything else around him, not who he was talking to, not what was going on, he just saw _him_. Gerard was beautiful. He was a million bucks. He was sitting over a glass of dark liquid, looking somber but also lively. Like he was awaiting company, company that Frank was glad to give him.

He remembers seeing that sleaze ball walk up to Gerard, and remembers the fight or flight instinct kicking in. He hadn’t even intended to intervene. It was never his intent. He just stood up, walked over, he was ready to pounce on that jerk. He felt somewhat possessive over this pretty guy he’d never met before. Knew somehow, that this man was going to be important to him.

Frank relives the first moment Gerard looked at him in his head. He watches it like a movie on the inside of his eyelids, and it makes the smile on his face even wider. He doesn’t want to open them. He doesn’t want this moment to stop. He wants to let it keep on going, never let it stop.

He remembers kissing Gerard. He doesn’t know who, if either of them, first initiated it, or if they just had a mind meld. He remembers the earth stop spinning the second his lips touched Gerard’s. He can still feel the numbness of his body when it happened. He can feel the way Gerard orchestrated the beating of his heart like a puppet on strings. 

Frank remembers Gerard saying that he loved him, and how Frank inflated like a helium balloon, he was sure he might just float away, off into heaven. Then he realized that he was already in heaven. Every second he spent with Gerard, it was heaven by all means.

Possibly Frank’s favorite memory from last night however, was kissing Gerard in the rain. It was everything. It was perfect. It’s what he’s going to say to Gerard in their vows. No moment will ever be able to beat that one. 

Frank is pulled back to reality when he hears a sort of rustling sound, and he expects that it’s just Gerard stirring from sleep. Frank doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to disturb this moment at all, he wants to conserve it like he has all the other moments, so he just lies still and waits for Gerard to wake up, because until he’s awake, Frank doesn’t want to have to put any effort into thinking about anything but last night and their future. 

Now that the day is new, Frank can see the world with Gerard. It’ll be like a different world, not the same one as last night. A new day brings with it a new chance to start over. Nighttime is very final. Now that it’s over, it’s like Frank can begin his new life. His new life with Gerard.

Frank can’t wait. It’s Saturday, in just a few minutes, he can drag Gerard to the Subway. He can take him home to meet his roommate, Ray. Or maybe Gerard can drag him home. Maybe he can meet Gerard’s roommate, or his brother. Maybe they won’t even go home right away. Maybe they’ll go get breakfast, or lunch depending on what time it is. Maybe they’ll go to the fucking zoo, he doesn’t care. Anywhere that Gerard is, he’ll be glad to go.

Gerard’s arm is around Frank’s waste, his other arm somewhere that Frank can’t feel right now, and Frank’s entire body is pressed against Gerard’s. He’s nearly falling off the bench, and he’s sure that if he moves, he’s going to fall face first into the concrete. Or grass. He can’t quite remember where they are.

Frank hears more rustling, only he doesn’t feel Gerard moving. He expects it’s the wind.

Then it occurs to Frank that he doesn’t actually feel any wind on his face. He sighs reluctantly, and decides that he’s going to have to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to, but he’s curious. He also should check what time it is. 

When Frank opens his eyes he’s met with an unfamiliar face. It’s very near to his own, and it’s meddling with something on the ground. Frank has trouble registering what this unknown person is doing, but when he glances down he sees his stuff, the stuff he’d thrown in all of his bags. 

“Hey,” Frank says, realizing slowly that this man is digging through Frank’s stuff. Considering that he doesn’t know this man, he’s got a pretty good idea of what he’s trying to do.

The man looks up at Frank in surprise, and not a second passes before he grabs the bags, both his and Gerard’s, and makes a run for it. Frank’s stomach sinks, but he doesn’t let it stop him from jumping up to his feet quickly. He doesn’t even think about it, he just starts chasing.

It takes him a few moments of dizzying movement for him to remember that he left his phone, and he thinks his wallet as well in the pockets of his wet pants. He doesn’t feel either of them on him, so he assumes that they must be there. He tries to speed up, not let this man get away. The park where he is isn’t overly busy right now, so there’s no way for Frank to yell at someone to stop this man, so he’s just got to run faster. He’s got to catch up with the thief and knock his lights out. And Frank is from Jersey, so he can, and he will.

Meanwhile, Gerard is jolted awake, not from the absence of Frank against him, because Gerard is a brick when he’s asleep, but from a sharp sound panging from his pocket. He groans, squinting because there’s sunlight in his blurry eyes, and he doesn’t know where he is, what day it is, what time it is, or anything else for that matter.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He’s forced to blink repeatedly to get the sleep out of his eyes in order for him to so much as read the name on the Caller ID. When his vision clears, he sees the name Mikey blinking at him, and he knows that if he doesn’t answer it, he’ll wind up dead or worse. Mikey has that power.

“Hello?” Gerard asks, groggy, and definitely not awake. He’s not thinking about anything at all right now, not a thing in the world, nothing other than that his back hurts and he wants to be in his bed, but he’s not, which is a bummer.

“Where the hell are you?” Mikey snaps at him, not necessarily angry, just annoyed.

“Uh, not sure. Just woke up.”

“We’re supposed to meet up for lunch, dimwit,” Mikey says. Gerard, confused, looks around him, and then remembers his watch, and looks down. It’s nearly noon.

“Fuck,” Gerard says, getting to his feet. “Right, I totally forgot.”

“Well it’d be nice if you could get here soon, asshole,” Mikey replies. “The waiter thinks my date stood me up.”

“Fuck, you’re there now?” Gerard asks.

“Yeah, I’m here now,” Mikey replies, even more irritated.

“Right, I should get going,” Gerard says, and he doesn’t give Mikey a chance to say anything before he hangs up.

Gerard takes a moment to gather his thoughts before he moves a muscle, just looks around and tries to remember why it is that he’s on a park bench of all places. And why did he fall asleep on a park bench?

Then he remembers. Frank. He was with Frank. He was with quite possibly the love of his life. Who’s he kidding? He was with the love of his life.

Gerard smiles, for a moment, and then the smile fades instantly.

Where _is_ Frank?

Gerard looks around him, turns around, looks in every direction, looks everywhere in sight. He doesn’t see Frank anywhere.

Frank’s not here. Frank is nowhere to be found.

Gerard feels an immediate sense of betrayal wash over him. Frank’s gone. He left. Gerard’s alone.

He had given Frank the best day of his life, allowed himself to believe that Frank felt an inkling of the same way that he did, opened himself up like a book, completely let it go for Frank. He would have given Frank anything. He’d have given the guy his fucking social security number if he’d asked. He was going to marry that guy. He was going to have a life with him. He was going to show him off to all of his friends.

Gerard knows it’s stupid. He met this guy last night. He doesn’t really _know_ him. He may have heard just about all of Frank’s life history, literally knows the name of Frank’s childhood best friend, knows everything that there is to know about this man, and yet, he doesn’t know what Frank is really made out of.

What if Frank really was just a sociopath who had been leading Gerard on for the fun of it? Maybe Gerard misread the situation. Maybe Gerard pressured him, cornered him into saying I love you, into kissing him, when he didn’t really want either of those things. Maybe Frank has a boyfriend that he didn’t tell Gerard about. Maybe he just wasn’t that into Gerard.

Gerard thinks for a small moment, that it’s all a misunderstanding. Frank just had an emergency and left Gerard a note, but it blew away with the wind. Gerard checks his pockets, maybe Frank managed to get it in there. What he finds is just a receipt for the clothes he’s wearing and nothing else. No note, no phone number, no nothing. He also doesn’t feel any wind. It’s a perfectly still day, no wind to speak of. 

Gerard wants with all of his heart to believe that there’s been a mistake here, but it doesn’t seem logical. Frank clearly isn’t here. He clearly didn’t intend or try to leave a note. He’s just gone. Gerard wants for him to be here, but he’s not. He’s just not here. He woke up, realized the huge mistake he’d made, and just left. He left Gerard. Didn’t even have it in him to leave a note. How little must Gerard have meant to him if he couldn’t even bother to write him a note?

Gerard feels the first hot tear swell in the corner of his eye, and he collapses on the bench, feeling every single fiber in his body ache. It’s not because he slept on a park bench at an uncomfortable angle, it runs far deeper than that. Frank left him. After all they went through. After all of that, Frank just left. He’s gone. He didn’t leave Gerard anything. Not a phone number, not a note. He’s just gone.

Gerard’s skin crawls, he shutters, and gags on air, feeling as though he might puke. He feels gross. The bench feels like a million degrees and he hops back onto his feet, afraid it’ll burn him. His head becomes instantly dizzy at the feeling of him standing up, and what he had thought was just a passing feeling a moment ago, turns out not to be true.

With tears, streaming down his face, Gerard realizes that he’s going to vomit, and he doesn’t have time to waste. 

Gerard, a mess in every sense of the word, makes a run for it. He needs to find somewhere, anywhere, private enough that he can get sick that’s not in front of moms with strollers or people walking dogs.

Gerard, rather ungraceful, throws up by a trash can. Not in the trash can. By the trash can. He doesn’t feel good about it, but it’s better than puking on the sidewalk. 

After retching a few more times, and feeling as though he was just dipped into a vat of lava, Gerard collapses to the ground a few feet away, and just loses it. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in more pain in his entire goddamn life. When his first boyfriend broke up with him right before prom is nothing compared to this. This is like he just lost a spouse after their fiftieth anniversary. This is what it would be like to lose Mikey.

He can’t get a breath in, feels his lungs burning up with intense, searing, pain. His face is red with a waterfall of tears falling uninhibitedly down. He looks a mess, feels even worse.

Frank had meant so much to him, he _means_ so much to him. He was sure Frank felt the same way. Frank was the one who originally hit on him. Frank kept reassuring him that he felt the same way, doting him with praise, making Gerard feel like he was worth something for the first time in such a long time. Frank was everything. 

Not having him here, and knowing that Gerard’s been, for lack of a better word, dumped, is beyond awful. It’s humiliating, mortifying, but mostly, completely heartbreaking. 

This is the worst feeling in the world and Gerard would do anything, _anything_ to make it stop. 

Frank loses the thief around the bend of a street corner that leads through an alleyway. It’s a four-way intersection, and Frank can’t see the man in sight. He knows the second that he comes to the intersection that it’s a lost cause. There’s no way to know which direction he might have gone.

Frank groans, dejectedly. It’s not the end of the world, he knows it’s not. He hasn’t lost anything of any extreme importance. But that was still a hundred-dollar phone, and his wallet was in there, so now he’s going to have to call the credit card company, go to the DMV, replace all those fucking loyalty cards, and to top it all off he was only one cup of coffee away from a free one, but now his punch card is gone, because god hates him. 

Then Frank remembers Gerard, still there on that park bench. Probably still asleep. Still the same gorgeous man Frank’s mind will forever be dedicated to. The thought of him forces a smile on his face that he can’t help if he wanted to. 

Frank strolls back leisurely. He can’t wait to see Gerard again, but he’s walking off the anger and annoyance from the theft. He wants to make sure he cools down enough that by the time he sees Gerard again, he’ll be able to be someone worthy of seeing Gerard.

Frank sees the park after turning a sharp corner, and he smiles, knowing Gerard’s only a little ways away.

He makes his way to the bench, looking down at the grass, trying to remember if he and Gerard had stood on this exact spot last night or not.

When he looks back up after a few feet, Frank stops dead in his tracks. He sees the bench. He sees the bench where he and Gerard had slept. He’s certain it’s the same bench. It’s got the same ad printed on the back of it. He sees _the_ bench where he slept, the ground where their bags had been, but what he doesn’t see is Gerard. Gerard’s gone. Frank scans the area around it, turns around in circles more than once. Gerard’s not there.

That’s right around when Frank feels the ground beneath him completely vanish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to tell me how much you hate me in the comments.


	12. Misery Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain and suffering.

Gerard drags his feet underneath him, the pavement feeling like a personal assault to his feet. Everything hurts, honestly. He feels like each step is a foot on broken feet, every breath in is needles in his throat, every glance around is a panging ache in his head. He feels like he’s coming down from the worst hangover in his life, and he didn’t drink a thing.

People around him steer clear, because Gerard honestly looks homeless. He looks sick, dying, looks worn and broken. He feels as bad as he looks, maybe worse. 

Gerard can’t stop thinking how much of an idiot he is. He let Frank play him like that. He let Frank in. He was going to give Frank the world, had planned everything out, because Frank was everything. But he’s not here. He’s gone. 

Gerard didn’t think to get his last name. He doesn’t know where Frank works, he knows it’s a school, but that could be anywhere. He doesn’t know where Frank lives. He doesn’t know a thing. He just knows that Frank willingly chose to walk away from Gerard, and there’s nothing Gerard can do about it. He doesn’t have anything. He can’t even send dog shit to his address because he doesn’t have that.

Gerard wouldn’t do it if he did know where Frank lived. He’s in love with this fucking asshole, and he can’t help it. His senses and brain are all telling him that he should just forget about the guy, he knew him for like six hours. He was nothing, he’s barely a blip. In a highlight reel of Gerard’s life, Frank’s not going to have much screen time. Only he’s going to be _in_ the highlight reel, because every single second Gerard spent with that guy was one of the best seconds of Gerard’s life.

He’s torn up over a guy who didn’t even like him back. He knows it’s stupid, knows that Frank is a dick and he should forget about him, but Gerard doesn’t have it in him to forget. He doesn’t have it in him to not feel broken. Right now, he is broken. 

He’s been torn apart, had his pieces scattered, stepped on, and laughed at, and he doesn’t know how to stitch himself back together quite yet.

Gerard hasn’t felt this bad in years. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt _this_ bad, but the only thing that even compares was the day that he bottomed out. But drinking, honestly, it leaves you feeling like shit, but this is something else entirely. It’s not that it’s worse, it’s just a different kind of hurt. Gerard let himself down back then, but this time, he let himself get fooled. He let someone in, someone who he was utterly sure was good, and it turns out that he was wrong.

Gerard isn’t paying attention to where he’s going, he’s not looking ahead, if he didn’t look so unwholesome, he’d have walked into at least a dozen people by now, but as it is, people are avoiding him like the plague. His mind isn’t paying attention to where he’s going, but his feet know the way home.

He’s surprised when he looks up to see familiar surroundings. He sees the bookstore that he frequents, and a large business building that he still doesn’t know the purpose of. He’s only a few blocks from home. Right now, he needs to be there. He needs his bed. He needs to take a long ass bath and just cry it out. He needs to watch Disney movies with Hayley and talk about how awful boys are. 

He needs Frank.

Gerard chokes on air, because he can tell he’s seconds away from crying again, and he doesn’t want to do that again in public. He’s already spent at least fifteen minutes on the sidewalk crying, and then another fifteen minutes in the bathroom of that Starbucks before he was asked kindly to leave, he doesn’t want to cry again with other people watching.

Gerard speeds up, which makes his feet turn to fire, and he’s sure they’re going to give up beneath him or just fall off, but despite that, he perseveres and walks on.

Then Gerard sees the bar. Gerard goes through a spectrum of emotions in the moment that he sees it looming over him, and none of them are good. He thinks of how he used to drink his life away in there and almost let it destroy him. He thinks about meeting Frank in there. He thinks about using pickup lines on Frank in there. He thinks of how he started to fall in love with Frank in there. Then he thinks about how he could really fucking use a drink.

Gerard almost gags at his own thought, because he’s not supposed to think like that. He gave that up years ago. He won’t allow himself to even consider it.

Gerard rushes across the street, almost getting flattened by the car that comes out of nowhere. He feels a vicious stabbing as the sound of the cars horn honking at him meets his ears, and he knows he’s only got seconds to spare before he collapses. He needs to get home fast. He runs to the door beside the bar, runs up the stairs three at a time, and then starts scrambling in his pockets for his keys.

His hands shake, and he has to look at each key individually to find the right one, all the while feeling like his heart is going to give out. He doesn’t think he’s going to even be able to open the door before he loses his composure. He feels his heart rate pick up, as he tries to find the right key. Even when he does, he keeps putting it in the wrong way, and his hands are shaking too much to get it right. 

“Fuck,” Gerard says, feeling his face heat up, as tears begin to spill down his face. It takes him more than a minute, and quite a few whimpers of despair, but finally, he gets the key to turn in the lock, and then he’s trundling into the apartment, feeling like everything is completely broken, and honestly, it is.

“There you are,” Hayley says, her chipper voice coming from the kitchen. “Nice of you to finally make an appearance.”

Gerard stumbles through the living room, and finally collapses on the couch, and that’s when he lets everything fall apart. He’s never felt so disparaged, never felt so hurt, or so used in his entire life. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in this much pain. He barely knew Frank, and yet it feels like he’s lost a thirty-year relationship. He can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe he feels this hurt.

“Oh crap,” Hayley says, as she drops something and then comes running from the kitchen to see Gerard curled up on the couch looking a bigger wreck than she’s ever seen him, and that’s saying something.

Gerard can’t say anything for a long while. At least twenty minutes pass of him just weeping into the sofa, not caring what he must look like, not caring what a mess he is, barely even aware of Hayley sitting there next to him looking on the verge of tears too and she doesn’t even know what’s happened yet. Gerard just can’t talk right now though; he can barely bring himself to keep on breathing, he doesn’t want to have to explain himself to her. 

Hayley doesn’t care. She doesn’t need an explanation. Not yet at least. Right now, Gerard just needs to cry, and she’s content to let him do so.

Gerard tries to speak, tries to form words, but every time he tries he’s interrupted by his own sobs, and at some point he just gives up, just keeps crying.

“Chocolate?” Hayley asks eventually, and Gerard barely hears her, doesn’t even think about her words, he just keeps crying. 

Hayley nods to herself, and scurries off to her room, coming back with a pack of Hershey’s bars that she keeps in there for when she’s on her period and wants to murder people. Chocolate doesn’t heal all pain, but it’ll at least null it a little bit.

Gerard doesn’t even notice, he just buries his face even further into his knees and feels like the world is going to implode, and he thinks that he might even prefer that. 

* * *

Frank’s feeling very much the same as Gerard, though he doesn’t know it. He doesn’t feel the need to cry his eyes out though, not yet at least, because right now he feels numb. He would very much prefer feeling awful, he would rather be weeping uncontrollably, because he’s sure that it would hurt less. Nothing can hurt as much as this though.

Frank feels empty. He feels like a glass with a hole at the bottom. He doesn’t feel sad, really, that’s not the word for this feeling. He feels hollow. He feels depressed. He feels empty.

Frank walks home, his feet sound like explosions against the pavement to his ears. He’s been walking for over an hour, staring blankly in front of him, not capable of any thought other than that he misses Gerard. He doesn’t live even remotely close to here. He would call a cab, if he had his wallet, but that’s been stolen. He would call Ray and ask him to get a cab, but he doesn’t have his phone either. He can’t take the train, can’t even use a payphone. He just has to walk home, and walking home leaves him alone with his thoughts.

What must Gerard think of him right about now? Gerard probably hates him. Frank would him too. Frank _does_ hate himself. Gerard is somewhere out there, Frank doesn’t know where, but he is out there somewhere, and he is under the impression that Frank abandoned him. Frank just left him. He walked away.

Gerard is out there and he doesn’t know that Frank would take a bullet for him. He just doesn’t know. Because Frank left him. That’s what Gerard will think. Frank left him. Gerard won’t even know where Frank went.

Frank never got his phone number. He didn’t stop to think about it. He just assumed he’d get it eventually. He doesn’t know where Gerard lives, doesn’t know his last name, he doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t know how to possibly get back into contact with Gerard again. Gerard doesn’t know any of those things about Frank either. He’s gone, and there’s no way to tell Gerard that it was a mistake. Leaving him there on that bench, it was a mistake. He would never have done that to Gerard. He wouldn’t have. He loves Gerard, loves him like he hasn’t loved anyone in years.

He loves Gerard in a different way than he’s ever loved anybody before. With Gerard, something clicked that never did with anyone else. Gerard was something special. Gerard’s don’t come around in your life more than once. No one in the world is like him. No one in the world, Frank thinks, is as good as him. Gerard is more than he could ever put into words.

He’s not here though, and its Frank’s fault. It’s his fault. He should’ve woken Gerard up and told him what was going on before he ran after that mugger. He should’ve given up sooner. He shouldn’t have run after the thief at all. He should’ve told Gerard his last name. He should’ve told Gerard what school he worked at. He should’ve given Gerard his phone number. He should’ve done a lot of things. He did everything wrong. 

He’s never fucked up this bad. He’s never fucked up with this much at stake.

Frank walks the dismal path for another forty-five minutes before he sees his building. It seems bigger. When he starts on the stairwell, he’s sure the steps are taller, he’s sure that there are more of them. His floor must have been moved up overnight, because this is more than it was yesterday. It seems like it takes him years to get up the steps. His legs are sore, and everything feels _wrong_. He feels more than broken. He feels shattered. He feels ground into dust. He doesn’t feel whole.

It feels like he’s lost a part of himself. Like he just woke up missing something.

Frank at last reaches the door to his apartment, and he opens it easily, then walks through the door, feeling like a zombie.

“I’ve heard of the walk of shame, dude, but this is something else,” Ray says, turning around on the couch and muting the TV when he sees Frank. Frank doesn’t feel like engaging with him. He doesn’t feel like anything. Frank feels like sitting down and staring at a wall for hours. There is nothing at all in this world that he wants to do. He just wants everything to stop. He wants the ringing sound in his ears to go away, and he wants Ray to go away, and he wants the sun to go away, he wants the whole world to just stop for a minute. He doesn’t want any of this. He can’t stand it. 

He wants everything to go away. Except for Gerard. He wants Gerard to come here.

Ray gives him a quizzical look when Frank just stops and stands there for a minute. Frank looks blank. He looks like he’s somewhere else and nowhere all at once.

“Frank?” Ray asks.

Frank stops staring at the TV mindlessly and then looks at Ray, who’s giving him a quizzical, and somewhat worried look.

“Where are you right now, man?” Ray asks him.

Frank doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t have a voice. He doesn’t know where it is, or what he would say if he had it. He just feels like nothing.

“Frank?” Ray repeats.

“I don’t,” Frank chokes, and then coughs, and then decides not to keep talking.

“Dude, you’re starting to freak me out a little bit,” Ray says, and Frank just shrugs, but it’s half-assed like he doesn’t have the energy to do something even as minimal as that.

Frank decides that he just wants to go to his room. He walks to the side of the living room, feeling Ray’s eyes on him, and he walks into his room, collapsing on his bed. He still doesn’t feel anything. It’s a painful numb. It hurts, but it’s a hollow feeling. It’s like he’s screaming all alone in an empty stadium.

“Frank?” Ray asks, appearing in the doorway of Frank’s room. Frank doesn’t look up, he doesn’t talk, because he’s sure that if he does, he’ll breakdown. He can feel it coming, and part of him wants it to happen, but part of him wants to just stay like this for a while, because at least right now, while he’s hurting and he’s in agonizing pain, it doesn’t feel real.

When he starts to cry, that will be real. When he feels his body gasping for air, dissolving into tears, then it will be real. Gerard will be gone. Frank will be alone.

He can tell it’s going to happen though, and it’s coming on fast. 

“Frank? What happened last night?” Ray asks.

Frank opens his mouth to say something, and that’s when all of his composure evaporates.

It almost feels better, sobbing unabashedly, feeling like it’s the end of the world and he’s got to get it all out, because at least this way he’s feeling something. It hurts and the pain in his heart and stomach make him ill, but it’s more than the numbness. The numbness was worse because it felt like there was no destination. This, it’s awful, and it sucks, but he wants Gerard like he can’t explain. He wants Gerard so much. And he’s just gone. And that’s the hardest thing in the entire world for Frank to have to cope with.

Frank wants Gerard, more than anything in the world he wants him. He wants to tell Gerard he’s sorry, he wants to give Gerard the world. The fact that he can’t, and that he’ll likely never see Gerard ever again, it kills him.

Frank considers the fact that he’s never going to see Gerard again, and for a moment he just stops. Everything stops, the world he’d begged to stop a moment ago does as he’d asked, because everything freezes. 

He’s never going to see Gerard again. Gerard is gone. Gerard probably hates him right now. Frank isn’t going to have the life with Gerard that he was sure of.

The agony of a minute ago doesn’t have anything on what Frank feels now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it (or if I'm slowly tearing apart your soul)!


	13. Feeling Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Painful coincidences.

Gerard doesn’t move from his position on the couch for hours, and Hayley is far past worried, because he hasn’t said anything either. There was a brief period after about an hour where he just stopped crying like a snap of the finger and he just stood and sort of stared off at nothing for about ten minutes, just contemplating something or other, and then he went right back to crying again. She’s far past worried about him, honestly, she’s terrified of what’s happened.

She doesn’t know what happened to him. The last time she saw him this distraught though was back before he got clean, and that’s what’s scaring her. She can’t get Gerard to talk to her, so her mind is forced to go to dark places.

“Gerard, just, tell me anything that will stop freaking me out as much as you are right now.”

Gerard just shakes his head and feels his eyes swell. His tears are coming in bursts, they’ll be dormant for a few minutes and then start up again and just rock his entire body, shake it and make him quake with the pain of it. Hayley is worried he’s going to dehydrate himself, but Gerard has refused to drink the water she got for him.

Gerard doesn’t know what he wants to do right now. He just wants to feel awful, and cry, and he wants Frank here, but its Frank that makes him feel the way that he does right now, so obviously that’s not going to happen. 

Hayley counts the minutes as they go by, and she’s reached about 180 when someone is hammering at the door. Gerard looks up startled, and for a second, though he knows it’s stupid, he thinks it’s Frank. Frank doesn’t have Gerard’s address, but Gerard thinks that it must be Frank, and Gerard almost feels hopeful. He almost feels the slightest glimmer of hope, before Hayley opens the door to reveal Mikey.

“Gerard, you had better have a good fucking reason for standing me up, because I swear to god I will punch you in the throat,” Mikey says, as a welcome, while Hayley tries desperately to mime to him to _stop_ talking. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard says meekly, and it’s the first thing he’s said since he got home.

“Whoa dude,” Mikey says, freezing when he notices his own blunder, “what happened?”

Gerard shakes his head, and buries his face back in the pillow. It’s just Mikey. Frank’s not here. Frank left him. He hoped so desperately that it would be Frank pounding on that door, and now he’s left with the bitter reality that Frank doesn’t care.

“He won’t tell me either,” Hayley says, closing the door, and walking back over to Gerard, because she’s afraid to leave him alone for more than a minute. 

“Shit, you didn’t do something stupid did you?” Mikey asks, leaning over to look at Gerard from the couch, and Gerard doesn’t move at all. Gerard knows the truth is that he did something very stupid. He let Frank in. He gave Frank the power to hurt him, and it blew up in his face, because Frank used that power.

He wonders how Frank must feel right now. He might be proud of himself, for playing Gerard like a fiddle. Maybe he realizes how shitty he was, and he regrets it. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding. Maybe Frank is out there missing Gerard as much as he misses him. Gerard hopes desperately that the latter is true, and a very large part of him suspects that it’s the truth.

What Frank and Gerard had, that couldn’t have been faked. Or at least, if Frank was faking, he deserves an Oscar. Because that was real, and it was raw, and it was _right_. A larger part of Gerard is saying that it must have been a misunderstanding, because Frank seemed to good, and Gerard is too in love with him to think ill of him. Maybe Frank is out there missing him just as much as Gerard does.

“It’s about that boy, isn’t it?” Hayley asks, finally remembering that Gerard met someone last night. She’d been so caught up thinking that he relapsed that it didn’t occur to her that it could be boy troubles. She would definitely prefer it being boy troubles, because, while that sucks, it’s not as scary as it could be. 

Gerard nods, and it’s like a great weight off of Hayley’s shoulders. Not that she’s happy he’s sad, but at least a boy isn’t a pack of beers. Though they can be as harmful. 

“What boy?” Mikey asks, “There’s a boy?”

“He met him last night,” Hayley says.

“You’re upset over a one night stand?” Mikey asks, so condescendingly that Gerard snaps his head up to stare at him.

“It wasn’t like that,” Gerard says, looking at Mikey angrily.

“Gerard, if he wasn’t into it, there’s nothing for you to be upset about.”

“Get out,” Gerard says, coldly.

“What?”

“Get. Out,” Gerard repeats, slower, and the look in his eyes is one like he’s ready to kill.

“Gerard, calm down-”

“Get out!” Gerard shouts, ready to hop to his feet and push Mikey out if he has to. He can’t remember ever being this pissed off at his brother before, they actually have a really good relationship for brothers, but right now, Gerard is tempted to smack him.

“Mikey, I think its best that you leave,” Hayley says, because the last thing she wants is for Gerard to hurt Mikey, or vice versa. Gerard doesn’t think straight when he’s upset, it’s something she’s known about him for all the time she’s known him. It’s not that he’s violent, he just doesn’t consider the consequences of things when he’s sad or upset, because when everything in the entire world sucks, Gerard doesn’t care about anything anymore. 

“He’s my brother!” Mikey says, “If he’s upset I want to be there for him.”

“Go away,” Gerard says, softening up, back to a place where he just wants his pillow again. He doesn’t need Mikey right now though, Mikey is the most cynical person in the world on a good day, Gerard can’t put up with him on a bad day. 

“Just, for a little while,” Hayley says. “Hang out downstairs, I’ll call you later. Just for now, boy talk needs to be between us girls.”

Mikey doesn’t seem happy about it, but he relents and then paces towards the door. It closes with a noise louder than is entirely necessary, but Gerard doesn’t care if Mikey is pissed with him. He’s got bigger things to be upset with than Mikey throwing a tantrum.

“Boys suck, huh?” Hayley offers, and Gerard just nods into his pillow.

Gerard doesn’t have any words to say to her yet, but honestly, other than Frank, she’s really the only person he wants to be around right now. Not that he doesn’t absolutely adore his brother, but Hayley is who you want to have there when you’re crying. She understands. Mikey is a little apathetic, not intentionally, and he’ll show emotions when they’re called for, but he’s not a shoulder to cry on.

Hayley doesn’t push him, doesn’t judge him, doesn’t demand details. That’s what Gerard needs if he can’t have Frank.

“You don’t have to tell me, but, can I ask you what his name is?” Hayley asks.

Gerard looks up for a moment, his face red and unbelievably pained. It feels like pushing a car by himself, but he manages to get out the word. “Frank.”

* * *

Frank, is on a completely different spectrum to Gerard. Everyone grieves in different ways. Frank is choosing to not give up hope yet, but rather to chase hope. 

Frank drags himself, with Ray lolling behind looking somewhat unhappy, to the bar where he met Gerard last night. This is the only place he can think of where he might see Gerard again. He’d considered going to the bench, but it seems more likely that if Gerard is on the same page as him, he’ll come back to the bar. So he will wait here, and just keep waiting here, for years he’ll wait here, for Gerard, and possibly Godot, he’ll wait here. Until his limbs wither away into dirt. He’ll wait anywhere if Gerard might come back.

If Gerard is out there, and he knows that Frank is absolutely mad for him, he’ll come. But if Gerard is out there and thinks Frank abandoned him, there’s nothing that he can do. Frank hates being this powerless. He wants to talk to Gerard, explain things, just let him know. He can’t do anything at all though, and that kills him. 

“So you met this guy here?” Ray asks.

“Yes,” Frank says. “Right here. In this exact spot. He was, man, I don’t even know how to fucking describe him to you. Gerard was perfect. He was everything. Just talking about him, makes him seem unreal. Because he was too good. He was so much more, he was extra, he was the world. I love him, Ray.”

“But you met him last night?”

“Yeah,” Frank says, “and last night was the best night of my whole damn life. Nothing will ever eclipse it. Except maybe every day that I spend with Gerard.”

Frank is managing to not cry right now, but only because his hope is distracting him from the pain. Because he is in pain, so much pain. More, possibly than Gerard, because his guilt feels like a sunken ship. It’s his fault he and Gerard were separated. It’s his fault that wherever Gerard is right now, he’s in pain. Frank wants to take it all away, make Gerard’s life a bright one, one with no pain and no strife. He wants to give Gerard the world, but it’s his fault that Gerard suffers.

“God, I just,” Frank whimpers, “I wish you could’ve met him. He was so perfect, he was amazing. He’s the kind of guy everyone would fall in love with, I’m sure of it, because there was something about him.”

Frank feels himself getting a little choked up, and he grimaces, looking down at his drink. He wants to drown his sorrows, get so wasted that he has the chance to forget that he’s a fire of sadness on the inside, but if he drinks, he won’t be able to look for Gerard. He needs to keep his wits up, keep himself clear headed, because he needs to be able to see Gerard if he comes back. 

Frank turns away from Ray to scope out the crowd of the bar. It’s not very busy, seeing as it’s only about two in the afternoon, but it’ll get more crowded in the next few hours. It’ll be as busy as it was when Gerard and Frank met. Maybe the guy who hit on Gerard will make a reappearance, but he’s the last person Frank wants to see.

Frank looks at some of the faces around him. He sees a woman who’s clearly drinking off a recent fight with her spouse. There’s a creepy looking dude who’s probably out trying to cheat on his wife. There’s a gangly, noodle of a man who looks annoyed and bored, what his purpose in the bar is Frank doesn’t know, because it’s not as obvious as the other two. 

“Do you actually think he’s going to come back here?” Ray asks. Frank doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to consider the eventuality that Gerard won’t come back.

He doesn’t want to think about the prospect of never seeing Gerard again, because that’s too much. That’s not even an option. He’ll see Gerard again, even if he has to knock on the door of every single Gerard in New York City. Not seeing him again is not a possibility. Gerard is the one, the more Frank thinks about it, the more he’s sure of that much, because Gerard _is_ the one.

He’s a wet dream come to life, and Frank won’t stop until he finds Gerard again. Not to fuck him, though that’s on the agenda, but to cherish that fucking man like he deserves. Frank is so far past in love with him, that he doesn’t know the word for it.

“I won’t allow the thought that he won’t come back,” Frank says honestly. He isn’t going to consider it, because he’ll see Gerard again, even if it’s hopeless. Even now, when everything feels bleak and pointless, he will not give up that hope. Because if he gives up, he’s going to completely ruin himself. 

“What does this guy look like?” Ray asks, because it’s clear that Frank is serious about this, and if he’s going to be like this, than the least Ray can do is look for him.

Frank describes Gerard to him, focuses a little too much on the details and Ray’s a little bombarded by how gay Frank is, but he puts up with it anyway. 

“Oh man, I sound gay,” Frank says, and Ray just nods. “But like, he was perfect. He’d turn a straight man, Ray, he’d turn you.”

“Frank, you say that about all men,” Ray replies, and Frank can’t deny that this is true, but Gerard is special. Gerard is Gerard. Frank is beginning to think that the only word that is stronger, and exceeds the word ‘perfection’, is Gerard. 

Frank looks at the noodily man some more, and Frank must be getting delusional, because he swears that the man looks like Gerard. He’s got the same eyes. Almost the same jaw. It’s a little eerie, because that’s Gerard’s face, just a little elongated and with sharper bones.

Looking at the man, and remembering Gerard’s face forces a stabbing pain in his stomach like someone just stuck a sword through his abdomen. He looks down, sure he’s going to find a dagger there, but there’s nothing.

It’s just that, that guy looks so much like Gerard. But he’s not Gerard. No one is Gerard. No one is as good as him.

“You okay?” Ray asks, and Frank shakes his head. The truth is, he’s never going to be okay again. Not without Gerard. Until he finds Gerard again, Frank is cursed.

Frank feels, right in the back of his throat, that he is about to sob again, uncontrollably, and he panics. He can’t do this out in public. He can’t do it here. He’s cried enough in front of Ray today, he doesn’t want to keep doing that. He’s sure Ray is going to be seeing a lot of tears in the future, but Frank still has dignity he’d like to protect.

Frank has just enough time to rush an explanation towards Ray and then sprint towards the bathroom, a terrifying thumping in his heart that urges him to get there faster so that he can collapse to the ground with no one looking at him.

If only Frank knew that only two floors above him, Gerard sits, bearing the same pain as him, and wishing only to see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of things I could talk about in the Authors Note today, but I think that the most important thing to say is that what happened to Frank was shitty and terrifying, but I am so beyond thankful that him and everyone else are okay. So I'm just very glad Frank is okay, and I'm also so excited that Mikey's having a baby, it was the good news I really needed after everything.


	14. Where The Lines Overlap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard is a symphony.

Frank spends hours in the bar, more hours than even Ray is willing to spend trying to cheer him up. He watches as the whole of the city comes in, watches as the whole of the city leaves, and feels the dread when he’s asked to leave at closing. He can’t leave. Gerard might come back. What will he do if Gerard comes back? 

He knows it’s closing, Gerard isn’t going to come back when it’s literally closed but part of him also feels the weight of every second that passes that Gerard isn’t by him. He can sense it, like a bridge between their brains. He can practically hear Gerard hurting. He can sense him. And all he can sense now is that Gerard is there, he is out there somewhere, and he is missing Frank just as much as Frank misses him, and there’s no way to find him.

Frank doesn’t even know that the man who sat across the bar from him was the brother of the man he was looking for. He doesn’t know that Gerard is only a few levels away. He can’t know. There’s no way to know. 

So, Frank is forced to pack up his stuff at closing, and drudge his way to a taxi. He almost falls asleep on the ride to the apartment. He feels like it’s been years since he last slept. He wants the relief of not knowing that Gerard is missing for a few hours, it sounds hypnotic to him. There’s nothing he wants more than to just be in his own bed, lying against his own pillow, not caring for a little while that the love of his life is nowhere to be found.

When Frank gets home, Ray is still up. He tries to make Frank think that he didn’t stay up so late because he was worried about Frank, but he’s not an idiot. He can see it in Ray’s eyes. Just because Ray doesn’t want to be stuck in a bar on a Saturday night with a man who kept taking trips to the bathroom to cry, doesn’t mean that he was going to go to sleep without knowing that the guy is safe first.

“You okay?” Ray asks.

“No,” Frank replies, before walking to his room, and closing the door shortly. He hears Ray’s footsteps a moment later, and the quiet sound of the TV turning off, a sound so unbelievably unique that it always catches Frank off guard. Ray knocks, and he doesn’t wait more than a couple of seconds before he comes in. 

“Um, excuse you, I could have been naked,” Frank says, and Ray rolls his eyes.

“Listen, Frank, what is it right now that you need?”

“I need Gerard,” Frank says, surprised by the question, because the answer is so obvious.

“Yes, I get that, and I understand, but right now, I can’t give you that. I just need to know if there is something that you need in order to not self-destruct, which honestly, it looks like you’re already in the process of.” 

“I just, I don’t know. Nothing is okay right now, everything, it feels like everything has blown up in my face, and I want to do everything, everything in the world to make things work out, but I can’t and the fact that I can’t, it just, it kills me, like you can’t believe.”

Ray shakes his head, “I just want you to not look like you’re dying on the inside.”

“Right now… I can’t help that.”

“That kills me,” Ray sighs.

“It kills me too,” Frank says, feeling himself get ready to cry again, which he has seriously got to stop doing.

“What was Gerard like?” Ray inquires, because he wants to hear from Frank’s own mouth what was special about him. It’s not that he doubts how much Frank cares, he just wants to know how much.

“He was just like, he was everything, Ray, you can’t understand. He just had this way about him, you know? Like he was funny, and he wasn’t trying, and when he was trying he was such a fucking dork. Like he’d look at me with this like raised eyebrow like ‘I made a funny, now you gotta laugh’ and when he tried, he wasn’t even fucking funny, like he was just natural at it, until he tried to force it. And you should have seen him talk about Scooby Doo, like, he was raised on that shit, and just the way he talked about it, I mean you can’t imagine anyone ever being as passionate as that. But then he would say something else, anything else, and you could tell it just, it came from his heart, it didn’t matter what it was he was talking about, his voice, it just, it could get all serious, and it was like being stabbed straight through the heart, but not in a bad way. It was like, when Gerard talked, and when he was passionate about what he was saying, it was like one of those inspirational movie speeches with all the violins going all strong and pretty in the background. I swear, it was like he carried a whole orchestra with him, because just looking at him, just talking to him, hearing him speak, it was a gift. Gerard is a symphony. Gerard is poetry. Gerard is, he’s a monument, an epic. He’s a world all by himself, just this one man, who, without even trying, could touch you, like right in your fucking heart just by smiling or looking confused, or laughing, or anything. Gerard is everything now. The world seems like a shade of grey without him, because when he was in my world, I swear I saw colors that didn’t exist. Now I can’t even see the colors that I used to know.”

Ray looks at Frank, and he’s getting a sinking feeling, because there is no way in this entire world that Frank could have said any of those things about anyone yesterday. He couldn’t even have put those words together yesterday. This isn’t even the same person that Frank was yesterday.

“Well shit, man,” Ray says, shaking his head. “You got it bad.”

Frank just whimpers, and nods.

* * *

Gerard sleeps uneasily, but he does sleep which is a mercy on his aching head. What dreams he has are unpleasant and frightening, but not being awake is all that he asks for. He finds Frank in many of his dreams though, and that’s what kills him when he wakes up.

It’s far too early in the morning for a person to be awake. So early that the sun isn’t even up yet. Gerard looks out the window and he sees nothing but darkness. He expects it to be raining, because it should be raining when he feels this shitty. The weather should reflect that. But it’s not. The sky hasn’t got the memo that Gerard is having a bad day.

It’s only four in the morning and Gerard has already figured out it’s a bad day. It’s a bad day because Frank’s not here.

This time yesterday, he might still have been awake, with Frank. He can’t remember when they fell asleep, but it was around now. Gerard looks around his room, seeing ghosts of Frank on everything. He sees a stack of CD’s, Black Flag, Misfits, The Clash. All bands Frank had liked. He sees a Ramones record and laughs to himself, because Frank didn’t like the Ramones. He sees a sweater that he threw to the side of his room that looks like the one Frank was wearing. He sees the colored pencils strewn across his desk, and the dark brown looks like Frank’s eyes. There’s a pink one that looks like Frank’s lips, a violent yellow one that reminds Gerard of his personality. 

Frank has a bright yellow personality. He’s got the cheer, the care, the empathy. Frank is bright yellow. Gerard’s more of a warm green, he thinks. Frank is sunsets coming over a field, Gerard is the grass on that field. Frank is stars glowing from billions of miles away. Frank is a field full of dandelions overtaking a deserted piece of highway. Frank is a sunflower, which was also his favorite flower. Frank is pure, bright, energetic. 

Gerard doesn’t feel like dragging himself out of bed quite yet. He knows he’s not going to get any more sleep, but he doesn’t want to have to pretend to be a functional human being right now. He just wants to stay here for a little while and be unhappy. He’s going to be unhappy whether or not he gets out of bed or not, but at least if he’s here, he doesn’t need to be near Hayley. Hayley probably isn’t going to wake up for a little while yet, but he doesn’t want to talk to anyone.

He just wants to lie around, thinking about Frank. Well, he’s trying not to think about him, but that means that the only thing in the entire world that he can think about is Frank.

Gerard stares at his ceiling for a good half hour or so. Not really doing anything other than trying to think about nothing. He almost manages to wipe his brain of all thought for a little while, and thinks that this is what meditating must be like, until he gets bored and starts daydreaming about Frank as a knight in shining armor.

This gives Gerard an idea.

He pulls himself out of his bed, and drags himself to his desk where he looks around for his sketchpad. Rather lazily, Gerard starts to try to draw Frank’s face. However, without a reference, this is not an easy task.

The thing is, he can picture Frank’s face in his head, but for the life of him, he can’t remember exactly what his nose looked like. Or what his cheekbones were like. He can see Frank’s face, clear as day, but when he tries to focus in on the details, they’re not there.

Nevertheless, Gerard does his best, drawing a messy image of what he remembers Frank to look like. He definitely does not have a future career as a police sketch artist. Frank’s eyes end up being all wrong and his nose doesn’t look right. Gerard scraps the page, and then starts again. This one ends up going sour not long after he starts as well. Frank’s face is definitely not that shape.

Four more tries, and Gerard starts to get a handle on what the shape of his face is, and he starts to get the nose to actually look like a nose a little bit. It’s not exactly right though, because it doesn’t look like Frank.

Gerard’s never drawn an actual human face without a reference before, and he’s starting to think it’s impossible. How can he draw Frank when he’s not looking at him?

Gerard manages to waste two whole hours trying to draw him, with varying degrees of success, when he finally sprouts up an image that has a passing resemblance with Frank.

He doesn’t realize what time it is until he looks at the clock and sees that it’s nearly seven. It’s still way too early in the morning. Gerard feels his stomach grumble at him, pleading for food, and he’s got to pee pretty badly as well. He knows he also smells like he hasn’t showered in a few days, mostly because he hasn’t showered in a few days. He’s kind of a mess of a human being right now.

It’s in this moment that he realizes that he doesn’t feel like complete and utter shit right now. He thinks for a second, and then, the feeling of helplessness and desolation comes back. Gerard thinks for a minute, and tries to figure out why he didn’t feel so shitty, and then looks down at the sketchpad below him. He hasn’t felt shitty since he started drawing. Sketching took his mind off of Frank for a while, even though he was drawing Frank, and thinking about him all the while. It was a distraction. 

Gerard flips the page and starts drawing again, the first thing that comes to his brain, which happens to be a superhero, that he doesn’t even know he’s drawing until he starts to see it on the page. Gerard is always doodling superheroes though, anywhere really, napkins, notebook paper, himself, on a bathroom stall once. Though when he gets to the face he realizes too late that it looks like Frank. He hadn’t even tried to make it look like Frank, but it just happened. All the while, Gerard forgets for the few minutes it takes for him to complete the drawing, that he’s in pain. He just forgets that the world sucks for a few minutes.

When he looks down at the finished sketch, he realizes that he distracted himself again. He resorts back to feeling like shit only seconds after, because his brain reminds him that the world sucks, but he’s astounded that he managed to make it stop hurting for a little while.

Then he hears a knock on his door and he makes a grunting sort of sound that means “come in.”

Hayley walks in a few moments later, looking way too good for it to be seven in the fucking morning, but then again, Hayley usually wakes up looking like she just spent five hours at a salon. That’s just kind of her default look. Honestly, if Gerard weren’t the gayest fucking person on the planet he’d be so in love with her. But to be fair, most people are in love with her at least a little bit. 

“Hey,” she says, looking over at Gerard, who she is surprised to see is actually out of bed.

“Hi,” Gerard responds, rather despondently. 

“So I’m assuming life still sucks?” Hayley asks.

“Yeah,” Gerard nods.

“I’m sorry,” she says, sighing. 

“I just miss him,” Gerard says. “I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like he’s haunting me.”

“He must have been special,” Hayley says, walking over to sit on the bed, as Gerard looks back at her.

“He was. He is. I mean, fuck, I don’t know how to describe him to you,” Gerard says. He didn’t actually tell Hayley much of anything about him, not even what happened, and he feels that he owes or something at least. 

“That’s alright.”

“No, I mean, you couldn’t understand, because you’d have to meet him, but he was, wow. He made me feel alive, I don’t know. He just gave me this, like, fuzzy feeling inside, and he was warm, and he was sweet, and he was just fucking hilarious. But, really, the thing that made me fall in love with him, and believe me, I am in love with him, I’m positive of it, but what made me fall in love with him was that he just made me feel good. Like it wasn’t like he was pandering to me, or anything like that, because he wasn’t trying. Ya know, he just, he just had this way. He made you feel good about yourself, just by being near you. He looked at me like no one has ever looked at me before. He talked to me like no one has ever talked to me before. Everyone thinks they’re superior to everybody else, it’s a consequence of the human existence, we all do it, we don’t know we think do, but we do. But Frank, he, he felt to me like an equal, and he looked at me like he felt the same. It was just unreal meeting someone who was more human than anyone else I’ve ever seen.”

“And you fell in love with him in one night?” Hayley asks, not in a condescending tone, because she doesn’t have a condescending bone in her body, she’s just trying to make sure she has her facts straight.

“I fell in love with him in one minute,” Gerard replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in recent news, Frank Iero owns my gay ass and he probably owns yours too.


	15. Escape Route

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck being sad.

“Gerard, are we going to retrace every step you took that night?”

“Yes,” Gerard replies, shaking his head at the stupid question. He will retrace every single step. He will scour the world if he has to. Honestly, if he hadn’t just lost his job, he’d buy a billboard in hopes that it might help Frank find him.

“Okay,” Hayley says, shrugging, and kind of shaking her head. She’s hoping that since she works at the bar she’ll be able to see Frank if he decides to come back to look for Gerard, but she’s not entirely confident that Frank wants to be found.

Frank left Gerard under what can be considered to be quite clear circumstances. He left before Gerard even woke up. Why would he do that if you wanted to see Gerard again? If your one night stand were to do that to you, the answer would be clear. They don’t want to see you again. The similarities between that eventuality and this are too striking. The odds are high that Frank left Gerard, and that Gerard had been falling harder for Frank than the other way around. Frank doesn’t want to see him again, that’s why he left.

Gerard’s got a habit of making things bigger than they are, and it’s not even something she would consider to be a flaw of his, because Hayley would argue that his belief in humanity is just too pure to try to squash. Gerard thinks the best of people, he always has, always will, and that’s something she wouldn’t change about him if she could. Gerard’s love of humanity is something no one would dare take from him.

But his love for Frank isn’t the first time he’s made a mountain out of a molehill. This is the first time he’s ever been convinced someone’s in love with him, but it’s not the first time he’s seen things that aren’t there. It hasn’t happened as much since college, but in those four years, Hayley heard on countless occasions that he’d had a _moment_ with a near stranger. Days later she’d discover that it had all been in his head. This just seems eerily similar to back then. 

“So, describe him to me,” Hayley asks. 

“What?”

“What does he look like?”

Gerard does his best to describe to her what Frank looks like, and he offers her up the sketch that he’d drawn of him earlier for her to look at. He’s going to keep it in his pocket for all time, now, he’s sure. Anyone who might have seen him, he’ll show them the picture. Anything to find Frank again. 

“He’s cute,” she says, smiling lightly at the picture. She wants more than anything for what Gerard and Frank had to be real, but she’s scared that this boy is going to end up breaking Gerard’s heart a million times over.

“Yeah,” Gerard says, smiling shyly. “He’s very cute. I can’t have really captured how gorgeous he was, but believe me, he was perfect.”

“I didn’t really get a good look at him at the bar,” she replies, then is struck with an idea. “Do you know if he was a regular?”

“Probably not,” Gerard shakes his head, “it was his coworker’s birthday, that’s why he was there in the first place. But if he does come back, you gotta look out for him. You have to tell me if you see him, because you’re like, the last line of defense. You’re more likely to see him than I am.”

“Yeah,” Hayley says, smiling back at him, and hoping with all her heart that Gerard isn’t imagining things. She wants this Frank guy to be true, and to love him as much as Gerard does, but life doesn’t always work out the way you want. And even if it is true, there’s no way for her to be at the bar all the time. She doesn’t work every day of the week, and she can’t be there all the time to ensure that she sees him.

“Gerard,” she starts, but then decides not to say anything as he drags her to a small, sad little coffee shop that looks like it could sprout a really shitty indie band called ‘Infinity On My Mind’ or ‘Lifeless Delusion.’ The kind of band that your coworker tells you about and then you listen to one of their songs and it sounds like it was recorded by a dying squirrel inside of a cardboard box whose only instrument is a can of chicken noodle soup. That kind of band. 

He pulls her to a table in the corner, and tells her that he and Frank had sat here. With the look he has on his face as he peers around the coffee shop, she doesn’t have any trouble doubting it. Gerard is seeing ghosts. Everywhere he looks, he’s remembering Frank, he’s remembering things Frank said, laughs they shared, things that made Gerard fall under his spell.

Hayley can’t even begin to understand the change in Gerard over only the course of a day. He’s definitely more depressed, that’s not a secret, but he also seems to have new life in him, new vigor. 

Frank breathed something into Gerard, something he hadn’t had in a long while. Even though Gerard is depressed and sad, there is a liveliness to him that Hayley hasn’t ever seen from him before. 

It’s like he’s got a new purpose. Gerard didn’t have much of a purpose, he’s been feeling very miserable the past few years at his job. It was one of those jobs where everyone looks the same, everyone has the same sized cubicle, does meaningless work, and then goes home unsatisfied. A job that puts no life into the people who work it.

Gerard’s job was like a dementor, with every day he went back there, it sucked out more of his soul. Maybe it’s a coincidence that Frank happened to appear on the same day that Gerard lost that job, or maybe it was fate shining a light on Gerard’s life, but he is _different_. 

Still though, Hayley fears. What if Gerard’s been played? What if this Frank guy was only ever out to hurt him? What if he never cared for Gerard at all, and just wanted to smash his heart like glass?

What if Frank was a decent guy who Gerard put too much weight on, causing him to crumble under the pressure? What if Gerard just has too much to give and Frank didn’t have the same amount to give back? 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Gerard says, like a confession, and he sighs at his own words. He looks at her, across from him in the coffee shop. She’s sitting right where Frank had been. She’s the best person Gerard knows, but she’s a poor replacement for Frank’s presence. 

“What?”

“You think that Frank left me,” Gerard says. “You think that I’m blowing this out of proportions and that he didn’t really love me back the way that I love him.”

“Gerard-”

“It’s okay, I understand,” Gerard says, shaking his head. “The thing is, Hayley, I thought that at first too. All of last night really, I spent just kind of stewing in it. Did I exaggerate things? Am I going insane? All this shit, and then I realized, I’m not. I’m literally not. I am sure, no, I’m _positive_ , that what Frank and I had can’t be faked, can’t be… it can’t be one sided. Not the way that he talked to me. He talked to me like you wouldn’t even talk to a therapist, like he was honest, and real, and I believe with all my heart that there was something between us. He wasn’t faking that, you can’t fake that. I’m sure I’m not delusional either, because you wouldn’t say the things that he said if you didn’t feel something. He poured his soul out for me, and trusted me to know what to do with it. I’m unable to believe that it wasn’t a big deal. 

“Now, if he got chickened out and did, in fact, run away from me, I don’t know, that’s a possibility, but I am sure that I am not making things up in my own mind. I am sure, without a hint of a doubt, that Frank liked, _loved_ , I don’t know… that he cared for me in return. If that scared him and that’s why he left, I think it’s a distinct possibility, but I don’t think it’s a decision he won’t regret. I’m sure, with all of my heart, that Frank is out there missing me just as much as I miss him. It’s not wishful thinking, it’s the only likely solution.”

Hayley looks at Gerard, and she has her doubts, she definitely does, but the look in Gerard’s eyes is something she can’t disagree with. She cannot go against a look that strong and sure. Gerard was the one who was there, all Hayley knows is what he’s managed to relay back to her, and she’s sure none of it will ever be able to capture the true story of what happened that night, because a night like that cannot be immortalized in anyway but in Gerard and Frank’s memory. Gerard surely knows more about this situation than she does. If he says it’s not all in his mind, and that Frank loved him back, well than Hayley will trust that judgement. Gerard is her best friend, and she will follow him unquestioningly on this if he is sure.

“Alright then,” she nods.

“Alright?” Gerard asks, looking confused.

“I trust you, Gerard,” she replies, “I trust your judgement. If you say he loves you, then he does.”

“Yeah?” Gerard asks.

“Yeah.”

Gerard grins, because he believes her. He believes that Hayley’s on his side. She always is, of course, but he can feel her questioning him less, and that’s what he needs right now. He needs someone to have faith in him.

“What are we waiting for then?” Hayley asks. “We’ve got a whole city to search to find this guy.”

“Then let’s find the bastard.” 

* * *

Frank spends his day very differently than Gerard. Instead of going out in the city and retracing his every last step, like he had tried to do yesterday, he lies on the couch, crying every now and again, between episodes of SVU.

Ray is doing his best to keep Frank from collapsing in on himself, he honestly is, but he doesn’t know what there is to do for him. Frank just lies on the couch all day, eating ice cream, god knows where he even got it, because Frank is lactose intolerant so what the fuck he thinks he’s doing Ray hasn’t a clue, but he’s tried to take it away from him like five times now and Frank just keeps shouting at him.

“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Ray says.

“Well so the fuck what?” Frank groans, “What’s a stomachache compared to my broken heart?”

“Listen, Frank,” Ray replies, “you’re not Shakespeare, you’re a human who’s going to make himself sick if he keeps eating like that.”

“Your implication that Shakespeare was not human does nothing to soothe my aching heart,” Frank says, because when he’s depressed he tends to speak like he’s in a soap opera, it’s something Ray has noticed over the years of knowing the guy. He turns into a poet when he’s got a cold, it’s bewildering, but actually kind of impressive.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Ray says, rolling his eyes, but he finally manages to pry the ice cream out of Frank’s hands, much to his dismay, but Ray trusts that Frank is too miserable to actually get off the couch, so he’s not surprised that Frank doesn’t follow him once he’s stolen the carton.

“I’ve got a broken heart, what do you want from me?” Frank groans, and then throws the spoon he’d been using at Ray, who barely has the time to dodge it from getting stuck in his hair. 

“Fewer flying projectiles, ideally,” Ray says, picking the spoon up off the ground with a disgusted look on his face. 

“Well we can’t always get what we want,” Frank says.

Ray just shakes his head, and groans. Frank doesn’t even like SVU, but he lost the remote hours ago, and hasn’t had the energy to look for it, so they’ve just been watching hour after hour of what starts to feel like one repeating episode after you’ve seen more than twice in a row. 

“Frank,” Ray says, with the best mom voice he can muster, “you need to get off that damn couch and go look for this guy. I promise you, lying on the couch all day is not going to pull him any closer. You’re not going to get any closer to finding him.”

“But I’m too depressed to go anywhere,” Frank replies, groaning, and it’s not at all a lie or an excuse. He’s not even lazy, or at least, he isn’t right now. He genuinely cannot move more than a couple feet without feeling dizzy and seeing his own heartbeat. His senses are all muddled, so he can see the sound of his own heartbeat whenever he stands up, and it winds him to the point where he has to sit down for fear of passing the fuck out. 

He doesn’t know why this is, whether he’s that depressed or if he’s getting sick. He knows that his dehydration can probably account for some of it, because he literally just cannot seem to get enough liquid in his body, because he keeps crying it out.

“I’m not having any of that,” Ray says, shaking his head.

“What?” Frank asks.

“You need to get your lazy ass up off that couch. The love of your life is out there somewhere and you need to find him,” Ray says, and Frank will admit that he’s glad Ray is supportive. A little bossy, and a little tetchy, yes, but also unbelievably supportive. It’s easy for Ray to be supportive though, when Frank keeps ranting on and on about Gerard, like he’s done. He won’t shut up, which would usually be annoying, except for the fact that Ray is extremely worried about Frank and is taking everything he says to his heart, because of the fear of what he’ll do if Ray doesn’t. 

“Ray, I really don’t think that I can,” Frank says, “I actually feel physically ill.”

“Well that hasn’t stopped you from doing stupid shit before,” Ray says, “you remember that time that you went to a Metallica concert when you had the flu?” 

“I hope you remember that I passed out at that concert.”

“You still went,” Ray replies, and he has a point.

“I don’t know where to go?” Frank says, in his defense. There’s a handful of places Gerard might go to try to find Frank again, how does Frank know which one to go to?

“We’ll go to the bar, or the coffee shop, or that garden,” Ray says, naming all the places that Frank mentioned to him.

“But how do we know he’ll be at any of those places?” 

“We don’t. But we know that you’re in love with this guy, and that he’s in love with you, so I’m willing to bet that he wants to find you just as much as you want to find him.”

“But what if he’s angry with me, so much so that he hates me now?”

“Love does not turn to hate so quickly, it’s not that fickle. There is a fine line between love and hate, but it’s not one that you can cross without time for the decision to fester. No, wherever this Gerard guy is, he is in just as much pain as you are.”

Frank makes a whimpering sound and when Ray looks over the couch at his friend, he sees that Frank’s begun to cry again. 

“Shit,” Frank says, with these short, pained little breaths that mustn’t be coming easily. “I can’t stand to think that I’ve hurt him.”

“You’re going to continue to hurt him if you don’t get off your ass and help me track him down,” Ray says, and this finally seems to get to him. Frank starts nodding, and he roughly pulls himself up, rather wearily, but he’s vertical and that’s what counts.

“You’re right,” Frank says, “I need to find him so that I can apologize for hurting him. And fast. Otherwise he’ll hate me soon.”

“That might be the case,” Ray nods. 

“I can’t allow that to happen,” Frank says, and he suddenly feels as though a stopwatch has been set, like he’s on a timer. There’s only a limited amount of time for Frank to find Gerard while Gerard’s still moonstruck. Logically, if he were Gerard, he’d start hating himself for what Frank has put him through. Gerard doesn’t know what Frank’s situation is, but either way, it’s Frank’s fault that they’re separated right now. It’s all Frank’s fault, the pain that Gerard is going through. There’s only so long Gerard can put the blame on him before he starts resenting Frank for it. 

Frank needs to find Gerard, and fast, because he can’t bear to live without him, and he definitely can’t bear to live in a world where Gerard actually hates him. Frank would give anything for that man, and the prospect of Gerard hating him is scarier than death to him. 

For Gerard, Frank will do anything to prove his feelings. He’ll search forever if he has to, just for one more look at him. He knows, somewhere out there, Gerard is waiting for him, calling out for Frank to find him. Frank will stop at nothing to answer that call. 

Frank has an escape from reality in Gerard. Gerard was lapse in time, an infinity compressed into a few hours. It’s like he lived a whole life in the span of knowing that boy, and he can’t begin to fathom what a life with him will be like. Frank needs him like nicotine. Gerard is the best kind of drug, one that takes him high, gives him a whole new perspective of the world and gives everything a wash of color.

Frank feels like his own grief melts off of him in a flash, to be replaced with the determination he has to find Gerard. He’s not going to get anywhere grieving over the loss, he surely isn’t going to bring Gerard any closer to him that way. His only option is to keep the faith that he’ll see Gerard again. He’s only got one path to choose, and that path is the one that will take him to Gerard.

“Fuck being sad,” Frank says, “the love of my life is out there waiting for me, and I’m letting him down every moment I waste without him by my side.”

Ray smiles at him, proud of himself for getting to Frank, a difficult feat considering how stubborn a motherfucker Frank can be. Frank’s right though, being sad is pointless, it only leads to decay.

Fuck being sad when all the world relies on happiness to prosper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long, but I recently started a new fic, which if you're interested, you can check out [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8803333/chapters/20182954).


End file.
